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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


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DuKESBOROUGH  XaLES 


BY 


Philemon  Perch 


BALTIMORE: 

TURNBULL   BROTHERS. 

ISTl. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871. 

By  TURNBULL  BROXnERS, 

In  the  Ollice  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


DEDICATED 

TO 

MEMORIES     OF    THE     OLD    TIMES: 

THE   GRIM    AND   RUDE, 

BUT    HEARTY    OLD    TIMES     IN     GEORGIA 


PREFACE. 

These  Sketches,  which  I  have  ventured  to  call  Tales,  drawn  partly  from  memo- 
ries of  incidents  of  old  times,  but  mostly  from  imagination,  were  written  for  the 
sake  of  my  own  entertainment,  in  the  evenings  when  I  had  nothing  else  to  do. 
And  now  I  am  going  to  let  them  be  published  in  a  little  book,  having  been  per- 
suaded, perhaps  too  easily,  that  they  may  amuse  others,  enough  at  least  to  have  me 
excused  both  for  the  writing  and  the  publishing.  I  know  very  well  that  such 
words  as  these,  which  are  meant  for  a  Preface,  may  be  regarded  rather  as  an 
apology.  Let  it  be  so  ;  and  if  it  be  thought  not  sufficient,  even  as  such,  it  is  as 
much,  I  insist,  as  ought  to  be  expected  from  a  man  of  my  age. 

P.   P. 


CONTENTS. 

Page. 

THE   GOOSEPOXD  SCHOOL,      .    , i 

JUDGE  LUKE'S  COURT, 36 

HOW  MR.    BILL    WILLIAMS    TOOK    THE    RESPONSI- 


BILITY 


75. 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.   A  DIET   SLACK,     ....        97 

THE    EARLY   MAJORITY  OF   MR.    THOMAS    WATTS,       133 

THE    ORGAN-GRINDER, 145 

MR.    WILLIAMSON  SLIPPEY  AND  HIS  SALT,     ,  .        .160 
INVESTIGATIONS  CONCERNING  MR.    JOA^AS  LIVELY,       176 


THE  GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL. 


"  You  call  this  education,  do  you  not  ? 
Why,  'tis  the  forc'd  march  of  a  herd  of  bullocks 
Before  a  shoutins:  drover." 


CHAPTER   I. 

^HE  incidents  wliich  I  propose  to  relate  in  these  sketches,  and 
those  which  may  follow  hereafter,  occurred,  for  the  greatest  part, 
either  at  or  in  the  neighborhood  of  Dukesborough,  once  a  small  village 
in  Eastern  Georgia.  For  many  years  it  has  ceased  even  to  be  men- 
tioned, except  by  the  very  few  persons  now  living  who  knew  it  before 
the  Dukes,  from  whom  it  was  named,  moved  away.  It  has  suffered 
the  most  absolute  decay  that  I  have  known  ever  to  befall  any  village. 
It  had  not  been  laid  off  in  its  beginning  according  to  any  definite  plan. 
Dukesborough  seemed  indeed  to  have  become  a  village  quite  unex- 
pectedly to  itself  and  to  everybody  else,  notwithstanding,  that  instead 
of  being  in  a  hurry  to  become  so,  it  took  its  own  time  for  it,  and  that 
amounted  to  some  years.  The  Dukes  first  established  a  blacksmith 
shop.  This  enterprise  succeeded  beyond  all  expectation.  A  small 
store  was  ventured.  It  prospered.  After  some  years  other  persons 
moved  in,  and  buying  a  little  ground,  built  on  both  sides  of  the  road 
(a  winding  road  it  was),  .until  there  were  several  families,  a  school,  and 
a  church.  Then  the  Dukes  grew  ambitious  and  had  the  place  called 
Dukesborough.  It  grew  on  little  by  little  until  this  family  had  all 
gone,  some  to  the  counties  farther  west,  and  some  to  the  grave.     Some- 


2  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

how,  Dukesborough  couldn't  stand  all  this.  Decay  set  in  very  soon, 
and  now  a  small  mound  or  so,  the  site  of  an  ancient  chimney,  is  the 
only  sign  of  a  relic  of  Dukesborough. 

It  would  be  useless  to  speculate  upon  the  causes  of  its  fall.  The 
places  of  human  habitation  are  like  those  who  inhabit  them.  Some 
persons  die  in  infancy,  some  in  childhood,  some  in  youth,  some  at 
middle  age,  some  at  threescore  and  ten,  and  some  linger  yet  longer. 
But  the  last,  in  their  own  times,  die  as  surely  as  many  of  the  former. 
Methuselah,  comparatively  speaking,  was  what  might  be  called  a  very 
old  man ;  but  then  he  died.  The  account  in  Genesis  of  those  first 
generations  of  men  is,  after  all,  a  melancholy  one  to  me.  The  three 
last  words  closing  the  short  history  of  every  one  are  very  sad  —  "  And 
he  died." 

So  it  is  with  the  places  wherein  mortals  dwell.  Some  of  them  be- 
come villages,  some  towns,  and  some  cities :  but  all  —  villages,  towns, 
and  cities  —  have  their  times  to  fall,  just  as  infants,  youths,  men,  and  old 
men,  have  their  times  to  die.  People  may  say  what  they  please  about 
the  situation  not  being  well  chosen,  and  about  the  disagreeableness  of 
having  the  names  of  their  residences  all  absorbed  by  the  Dukes  whom 
few  persons  used  to  like.  All  this  might  be  very  true.  But  my  posi- 
tion about  Dukesborough  is,  that  it  had  lived  out  its  life.  It  had  run 
its  race,  like  all  other  things,  places,  and  persons,  that  have  lived  out 
their  lives  and  run  their  races  :  and  when  that  was  done,  Dukesborough 
had  to  fall.  It  had  not  lived  very  long,  and  it  had  run  but  slowly,  if 
indeed  it  can  be  said  to  have  run  at  all.  But  it  reached  its  journey's 
end.  When  it  did,  it  had  to  fall,  and  it  fell.  So  Babylon,  so  Nineveh. 
These  proud  cities,  it  is  highly  probable,  had  no  more  idea  of  their 
own  ruin  than  Dukesborough  had  immediately  after  its  first  store  was 
built.     But  we  know  their  history,  and  it  ought  to  be  a  warning. 

Ah,  well !  It  is  not  often,  of  late  years,  that  I  pass  the  place  where 
it  used  to  stand.  But  whenever  I  do,  I  feel  somewhat  as  I  feel  when 
I  go  near  the  neglected  grave  of  an  old  acquaintance.  In  the  latter 
case,  I  say  to  myself,  sometimes,  And  here  is  the  last  of  him.  He 
was  once  a  stout,  hearty,  good-humored  fellow.  It  is  sad  to  think  of 
him  as  having  dropped  everything,. and  being  covered  up  here  where 
the  earth  above  him  is  now  like  the  rest  all  around  the  spot,  and  the 
grave,  but  for  my  recollection  of  the  place  where  it.  was  dug,  would  be 
indistinguishable  even  to  me  who  saw  him  when  he  was  put  here. 
But  so  it  was.     It  could  not  be  helped,  and  here  he  is  for  good.     So 


THE   GOOSEPOND  SCHOOE  3 

of  Dukesborough.  When  I  pass  along  the  road  on  the  sides  of  which 
it  once  stood,  I  can  but  Hnger  a  little  and  muse  upon  its  destiny. 
Here  was  once  a  smart  village  ;  no  great  things  of  course,  but  still  a 
right  lively  little  village.  It  might  have  stood  longer  and  the  rest  of  the 
world  have  suffered  little  or  no  harm.  But  it  is  no  use  to  think  about 
it,  because  the  thing  is  over  and  Dukesborough  is  no  more.  Besides 
myself,  there  may  be  two  or  three  persons  yet  living  who  can  tell  with 
some  approximation  to  accuracy  where  it  used  to  stand.  When  we 
are  dead,  whoever  may  wish  to  gather  any  relic  of  Dukesborough 
must  do  as  they  do  upon  the  supposed  sites  of  the  cities  of  more  an- 
cient times  :  —  they  must  dig  for  it. 

These  reflections,  somewhat  grave  I  admit,  may  seem  to  be  unfitly 
preliminary  to  the  narratives  which  are  to  follow  them.  But  I  trust 
they  will  be  pardoned  in  an  old  man  who  could  not  forbear  to  make 
them  when  calling  to  mind  the  forsaken  places  of  his  boyhood,  albeit 
the  scenes  which  he  describes  have  less  of  the  serious  in  them  than  of 
the  sportive.  If  I  can  smile,  and  sometimes  I  do  smile  at  the  recital 
of  some  things  that  were  done  and  words  that  were  said  by  some  of 
my  earliest  contemporaries,  yet  I  must  be  allowed  a  sigh  also  when  I 
remember  that  the  doings  and  the  sayings  of  nearly  all  of  them  are 
ended  for  this  world. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"Books!"  There  is  nothing  terrible  in  this  simple  word.  On  the 
contrary,  it  is  a  most  harmless  word.  It  suggests  quiet  and  contempla- 
tion ;  and  though  it  be  true  that  books  do  often  produce  agitations  in 
the  minds  of  men  and  in  the  state  of  society,  sometimes  even  effecting 
great  revolutions  therein,  yet  the  simple  enunciation  of  the  word,  even 
in  an  elevated  tone,  could  never  be  adequate,  it  would  seem,  to  the  pro- 
duction of  any  considerable  excitement.  As  little  would  it  seem,  in 
looking  upon  it  from  any  point  of  view  in  which  one  could  place  oneself, 
to  be  capable  of  allaying  excitement  however  considerable.  I  never 
could  tell  exactly  why  it  was,  that,  as  often  as  I  have  read  of  the  custom 
in  England  of  reading  the  Riot  Act  upon  occasions  of  popular  tumult, 
and  begun  to  muse  upon  the  strangeness  of  such  a  proceeding  and  its 
apparent  inadequacy  for  the  purposes  on  hand,  my  mind  has  recurred 
to  the  incidents  about  to  be  narrated.     For  there  was  one  point  of  view, 


4  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

or  rather  a  point  of  hearing,  from  which  one  could  observe  this  quieting 
result  by  the  utterance  of  the  first  word  in  this  chapter  twice  a  day  for 
five  days  in  the  week.  It  was  the  word  of  command  with  which  Mr. 
Israel  Meadows  was  wont  to  announce  to  the  pupils  of  the  Goosepond 
schoolhouse  the  opening  of  the  school  morning  and  afternoon. 

The  Goosepond  was  situated  a  few  miles  from  Dukesborough,  on 
the  edge  of  an  old  field,  with  original  oak  and  hickory  woods  on  three 
sides,  and  on  the  other  a  dense  pine  thicket.  Through  this  thicket 
there  ran  a  path  which  led  to  the  school  from  a  neighboring  planter's 
residence  where  Mr.  Meadows  boarded.  The  schoolhouse,  a  rude  hut 
built  of  logs,  was  about  one  hundred  and  twenty  yards  from  this  thicket 
at  the  point  where  the  path  emerged  from  it. 

One  cold,  frosty  morning  near  the  close  of  November,  many,  very 
many  years  ago,  about  twenty-five  boys  and  girls  were  assembled  as 
usual  at  the  Goosepond  waiting  for  the  master.  Some  were  studying 
their  lessons,  and  some  were  playing ;  the  boys  at  ball,  the  girls  at 
jumping  the  rope.  But  all  of  them  (with  one  exception),  those  studying 
and  those  playing,  the  former  though  the  most  eagerly,  were  watching 
the  mouth  of  the  path  at  which  the  master  was  expected.  Those 
studying  showed  great  anxiety.  The  players  seemed  to  think  the  game 
worth  the  candle  :  though  the  rope  jumpers  jumped  with  their  faces 
toward  the  thicket,  and  whenever  a  boy  threw  his  ball,  he  first  gave 
a  look  in  the  same  direction.  The  students  walked  to  and  fro  in 
front  of  the  door,  all  studying  aloud,  bobbing  up  and  down,  exhibiting 
the  intensest  anxiety  to  transfer  into  their  heads  the  secrets  of  know- 
ledge that  were  in  the  books.  There  was  one  boy  in  particular,  whose 
eagerness  for  the  acquisition  of  learning  seemed  to  amount  to  a  most 
violent  passion.  He  was  a  raw-boned  lad  of  about  fifteen  years,  with 
very  light  coarse  hair  and  a  freckled  face,  sufficiently  tall  for  his  years. 
His  figure  was  a  little  bent  from  being  used  to  very  hard  work.  But 
he  had  beautiful  eyes,  very  blue,  and  habitually  sad.  He  wore  a  round- 
about and  pants  of  home-made  walnut-dyed  stuff  of  wool  and  cotton, 
a  seal-skin  cap,  and  red  brogan-shoes  without  socks.  He  had  come  up 
the  last.  This  was  not  unusual :  for  he  resided  three  miles  and  a  half 
from  the  schoolhouse,  and  walked  the  way  forth  and  back  every  day. 
He  came  up  shivering  and  studying,  performing  both  of  these  apparent- 
ly inconsistent  operations  with  great  violence. 

"Halloo,  Brinkly!"  shouted  half  a  dozen  boys,  "got  in  in  time  this 
morning,  eh  ?    Good.    You  are  safe  for  to-day  on  that  score,  old  fellow." 


THE  GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  5 

"  Why,  Brinkly,  my  boy,  you  are  entire/^^  too  soon.  He  won't  be  here 
for  a  quarter  of  a  hour  yit.  Come  and  help  us  out  with  the  bull-pen. 
Now  only  jist  look  at  him.  Got  that  eternal  jography,  and  actilly  studyin' 
when  he  is  nigh  and  in  and  about  friz.  Put  the  book  down,  Brinkly 
Glisson,  and  go  and  warm  yourself  a  bit,  and  come  and  take  Bill  Jones' 
place.  It's  his  day  to  make  the  fire.  Come  along,  we've  got  the 
Quses." 

These  words  were  addressed  to  him  by  the  '  one  exception '  before 
alluded  to,  a  large,  well  grown,  square-shouldered  boy,  eighteen  years 
old,  named  Allen  Thigpen.  Allen  was  universally  envied  in  the  school, 
partly  because  he  had  once  upon  a  time  been  to  Augusta,  and  knew, 
or  was  supposed  to  know,  all  the  wonders  of  that  great  city,  and  partly 
because  he  could  go  to  Dukesborough  whenever  he  pleased,  and  above 
all,  because  he  was  not  afraid  of  Mr.  Israel  Meadows.  But  it  was  the 
boast  of  Allen  Thigpen  that  he  had  yit  to  see  the  man  that  he  was 
afraid  of 

Brinkly  paid  no  attention  to  Allen's  invitation,  but  came  on  up 
shivering  and  studying,  and  studying  and  shivering.*  Just  as  he  passed 
Allen,  he  was  mumbling  —  "  A-an  em-em-pire  is  a  co-untry  go-overned 
by  a-an  em-per-or." 

Now  ordinarily,  the  announcement  of  this  proposition  would  be  in- 
capable of  exciting  any  uncommon  amount  of  risibility.  It  contains 
a  simple  truth  expressed  in  simple  language.  Yet  so  it  was  that  Mr. 
Allen  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter ;  and  as  if  he  understood  that  the 
proposition  had  been  submitted  to  him  for  ratification  or  denial,  an- 
swered, "  Well,  Brinkly,  supposin'  it  is.  Who  in  the  dickence  said  it 
weren't?     Did  you,  Sam?" 

"  Did  I  do  what  ? "  answered  Sam  Pate  in  the  act  of  throwing  the 
ball. 

"Did  you  say  that  a  empire  weren't  —  what  Brinkly  said  it  was  ?" 

"  I  didn't  hear  what  Brinkly  said  it  was,  and  I  don't  know  nothin' 
about  it,  and  I  haint  said  nothin'  about  it  and  I  don't  keer  nothin' 
about  it."  And  away  went  the  ball.  But  Sam  had  thrown  too  sud- 
denly after  looking  toward  the  mouth  of  Mr.  Meadows'  path,  and  he 
missed  his  man. 

Brinkly  scarcely  noticed  the  interruption,  but  walked  to  and  fro, 
and  studied  and  shivered.  Pie  bowed  to  the  book;  he  dug  into  it. 
He  grated  his  teeth,  not  in  anger,  but  in  his  fierce  desire  to  get  what 
was  in  it.     He  tried  to  fasten  it  in  his  brain  whether  or  not  by  slightly 


6  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

changing  the  hard  words,  and  making  them  as  it  were  his  own  to  com- 
mand. 

"An  yem-pire,"  said  he  fiercely,  but  not  over  loudly,  "is  a  ke-untry- 
ge-uvend  by  a  ye-emperor." 

"  And  what  is  a  ye-emperor,  Brinkly  ?  "  asked  Allen. 

"  Oh  Allen,  Allen,  please  go  away  from  me  !  I  almost  had  it  when 
you  bothered  me.  You  know  Mr.  Meadows  will  beat  me  if  I  don't 
get  it,  because  you  know  he  loves  to  beat  me.  Do  let  me  alone.  It 
it  just  beginning  to  come  to  me  now."  And  he  went  on  shivering  and 
studying,  and  shiveringly  announcing  among  other  things  that  "  an 
yem-pire  was  a  ke-untry  ge-uverned  by  an  ye-emperor,"  emphasizing 
every  one  of  the  polysyllables  in  its  turn  :  sometimes  stating  the 
proposition  very  cautiously,  and  rather  interrogatively,  as  if  half  in- 
clined to  doubt  it ;  at  others,  asserting  it  with  a  vehemence  which 
showed  that  it  was  at  last  his  settled  conviction  that  it  was  true,  and 
that  he  ought  to  be  satisfied  and  even  thankful. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  muttered  Allen,  stopping  from  his  ball-play,  and  look- 
ing towards  Brinkly  as  the  latter  moved  on.  "  That  boy  don't  know 
hisself ;  and  what's  more,  Iserl  Meadows  don't."  Allen  then  walked 
to  where  a  rosy-cheeked  little  fellow  of  eight  or  nine  years  was  sitting 
on  a  stump  with  a  spelling-book  in  his  lap  and  a  pin  in  his  right  hand 
with  which  he  dotted  every  fourth  word,  after  reciting  the  following  : 

"  Betsy  Wiggins ;    Heneritter   Bangs ;    Mandy   Grizzle  ;   Mine  !  " 

(Dot). "  Betsy  Wiggins  ;    Heneritter   Bangs ;    Mandy   Grizzle ; 

Mine!"  (Dot). 

"  I-yi,  my  little  Mr.  Asa,"  said  Allen,  "  and  supposin'  that  Betsy  Wig- 
gins misses  her  word,  or  Heneritter  Bangs  hern,  or  Mandy  Grizzle  hern, 
then  who's  goin'  to  spell  them^  I  want  to  know?  And  what'll  you  give 
me  ? "  continued  Allen,  placing  his  rough  hand  with  ironical  fondness 
upon  the  child's  head,  "  what'll  you  give  me  not  to  tell  Mr.  Meadows 
that  you've  been  gitting  your  own  words  ? " 

"  Oh,  Allen,  please,  please  don't ! " 

"  What'll  you  give  me,  I  tell  you  ? " 

"  Twenty  chestnuts  ! "  and  the  little  fellow  dived  into  his  pockets  and 
counted  twenty  into  Allen's  hand. 

"  Got  any  more  ? "  Allen  asked,  cracking  one  with  his  teeth. 

"  Oh,  Allen,  Allen,  will  you  take  all  1     Please  don't  take  all ! " 

"  Out  with  'em,  you  little  word-gitter.  Out  with  the  last  one  of  'em. 
A  boy  that  gits  his  own  words  in  that  kind  o'  style  aint  liable,  and 
oughtn't  to  be  liable  to  eat  chestnuts." 


THE  GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  7 

Asa  disgorged  to  the  last.  Allen  ate  one  or  two,  looking  quizzically 
into  his  face,  and  then  handed  the  rest  back  to  him. 

"  Take  your  chestnuts,  Asa  Boatright,  and  eat  'em,  that  is  if  you've 
got  the  stomach  to  eat  'em.  If  I  ever  live  to  git  to  be  as  afeard  of  a 
human  as  you  and  Abel  Kitchens  and  Brinkly  Glisson  are  afeard  of 
Iserl  Meadows,  drat  my  hide  if  I  don't  believe  I  would  commit  sooi- 
cide  on  myself — yes,  on  myself,  by  cuttin'  my  own  throat !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Asa  Boatright,  "  you  can  talk  so  because  you  are  a 
big  boy,  and  you  know  he  is  afraid  of  you.     If  you  was  as  little  as  me, 

you  would  be  as  afraid  as  me.     If  I  ever  get  a  man "     The  little 

fellow,  however,  checked  himself,  took  his  pin  again,  and  mumbling, 

"  Betsy  Wiggins  ;  Heneritter  Bangs  ;  Mandy  Grizzle  ;  Mine  !  "  —  re- 
sumed his  interesting  and  ingenious  occupation  of  dotting  every  fourth 
word. 

Brinkly  had  overheard  Allen's  taunt.  Closing  his  book  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  he  walked  straight  to  him  and  said : 

"  Allen  Thigpen,  I  am  no  more  afraid  of  him  than  you  are  ;  nor  than  I 
am  of  you.  Do  you  think  that's  what  makes  me  stand  what  I  do  ?  If 
you  do,  you  are  much  mistaken.  Allen,  I'm  trying  all  the  time  to  keep 
down  on  mother's  account.  I've  told  her  of  some  of  his  treatment,  but 
not  all ;  and  she  gets  to  crying,  and  says  this  is  my  only  chance  for  an 
education,  and  it  does  seem  like  it  would  break  her  heart  if  I  was  to  lose 
it,  that  I  have  been  trying  to  get  the  lessons,  and  to  keep  from  fighting 
him  when  he  beats  me.  And  I  believe  I  would  get  'em  if  I  had  a  chance. 
But  the  fact  is,  I  can't  read  well  enough  to  study  the  jography,  and  my 
'pinion  is  he  put  me  in  it  too  soon  just  to  get  the  extra  price  for  jogra- 
phy. And  I  can't  get  it,  and  I  haven't  learnt  anything  since  I  have 
been  put  in  it, —  and  I  am  not  going  to  stand  it  much  longer ; —  and, 
Allen  Thigpen,  I'm  not  going  to  pay  you  chestnuts  nor  nothing  else 
not  to  tell  him  I  said  so  neither." 

"  Hooraw !  '*  shouted  Allen.  "  Give  me  your  hand,  Brinkly."  Then 
continuing  in  a  lower  tone,  he  said,  "  By  jingo  !  I  thought  it  was  in  you. 
I  seen  you  many  a  time,  when,  says  I  to  myself,  it  wouldn't  take  much  to 
make  Brinkly  Glisson  fight  you,  old  fellow,  or  leastways  try  it.  You've 
stood  enough  already,  Brinkly  Glisson,  and  too  much  too.  My  blood 
has  biled  many  a  time  when  he'  been  a  beatin'  you.  I  tell  you,  don't 
you  stand  it  no  longer.  Ef  he  beats  you  again,  pitch  into  him.  Try 
to  ride  him  from  the  ingoin'.  He  can  maul  you,  I  expect,  but  —  look  at 
this,"  and  Allen  raised  his  fist  about  the  size  of  a  mallet. 


8  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

Brinkly  looked  at  the  big  fist  and  brawny  arm,  and  smiled  dismally. 

"Books  ! "  shouted  a  shrill  voice,  and  Mr.  Israel  Meadows  emerged 
from  the  thicket  with  a  handful  of  hickory  switches.  In  an  instant, 
there  was  a  rushing  of  boys  and  girls  into  the  house  —  all  except  Allen, 
who  took  his  time.  Asa  Boatright  was  the  last  of  the  others  to  get  in. 
He  had  changed  his  position  from  the  stump,  and  was  walking,  book 
in  hand,  apparently  all  absorbed  in  its  contents,  though  his  eye  was  on 
the  schoolmaster,  whose  notice  he  was  endeavoring  to  attract.  He 
bowed,_  and  digged,  and  dived,  until,  just  as  the  master  drew  near,  he 
weariedly  looked  up,  and  seeing  him  unexpectedly,  gave  one  more 
profound  dive  into  the  book  and  darted  into  the  schoolhouse. 

It  was  a  rule  at  the  Goosepond,  that  the  scholars  should  all  be  at 
their  seats  when  Mr.  Meadows  arrived.  His  wont  v;as  to  shout '  Books ' 
from  the  mouth  of  the  path,  then  to  walk  with  great  rapidity  to  the 
house.  Woe  to  the  boy  or  girl  who  was  ever  too  late,  unless  it  hap- 
pened to  be  Allen  Thigpen.  He  had  been  heard  to  say,  "  Ding  any 
sich  rule,  and  he  wasn't  goin'  to  break  his  neck  for  Iserl  Meadows  nor 
nobody  else."  If  he  got  in  behind  the  master,  which  often  happened, 
that  gentlemen  was  kind  enough  not  to  notice  it, —  an  illustration  of 
an  exception  to  the  good  discipline  of  country  schoolmasters  which 
was  quite  common  in  the  times  in  which  Mr.  Meadows  lived  and  flour- 
ished. On  this  occasion,  when  Mr,  Meadows  saw  Allen,  calculating 
that  the  gait  at  which  himself  was  walking  would  take  him  into  the 
house  first,  he  halted  a  little,  and  stooped,  and,  having  untied  one  of 
his  shoe  strings,  tied  it  again.  While  this  operation  v/as  going  on, 
Allen  went  in.  Mr.  Meadows,  rising  immediately,  struck  into  a  brisk 
walk,  almost  a  run,  as  if  to  apologise  for  his  delay,  and  then  entered 
into  the  scene  of  his  daily  triumphs. 

But  before  we  begin  the  day's  work,  let  us  inquire  who  this  Mr. 
Meadows  was,  and  whence  he  came. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Mr.  Israel  Meadows  was  a  man  thirty-five  or  forty  years  of  age,  five 
feet  ten  inches  in  height,  with  a  lean  figure,  dark  complexion,  very 
black  and  shaggy  hair  and  eyebrows,  and  a  grim  and  forbidding  ex- 
pression  of  countenance.     The   occupation  of  training  the  youthful 


THE   GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  9 

mind  and  leading  it  to  the  fountains  of  wisdom,  as  delightful  and 
interesting  as  it  is,  was  not  in  fact  Mr.  Meadows'  choice,  when,  on 
arriving  at  manhood's  estate,  he  looked  around  him  for  a  career  in 
which  he  might  the  most  surely  develop  and  advance  his  being  in  this 
life.  Indeed,  those  who  had  been  the  witnesses  of  his  youth  and  young 
manhood,  and  of  the  opportunities  which  he  had  been  favored  withal 
for  getting  instruction  for  himself,  were  no  little  surprised  when  they 

heard  that  in  the  county  of ,  their  old  acquaintance  had  undertaken, 

and  was  in  the  actual  prosecution  of  the  profession  of  a  schoolmaster. 
About  a  couple  of  days' journey  from  the  Goosepond,  was  the  spot  which 
had  the  honor  of  giving  him  birth.  In  a  cottage  on  one  of  the  roads 
leading  to  the  city  of  Augusta,  there  had  lived  a  couple  who  cultivated 
a  farm,  and  traded  with  the  wagoners  of  those  days  by  bartering,  for 
money  and  groceries,  corn,  fodder,  potatoes,  and  suchlike  commodities. 
It  was  a  matter  never  fully  accountable,  how  it  was  that  Mr.  Timothy 
Meadows,  during  all  seasons,  had  corn  to  sell.  Drought  or  drench 
affected  his  crib  alike  —  that  is,  neither  did  affect  it  at  all.  When  a 
wagoner  wished  to  buy  corn,  Timothy  Meadows  generally,  if  not  always, 
had  a  little  to  spare.  People  used  to  intimate  sometimes  that  it  was 
mighty  curious  that  some  folks  could  always  have  corn  to  sell,  while 
other  folks  couldn't.  Such  observations  were  made  in  reference  to  no 
individual  in  particular ;  but  were  generally  made  by  one  farmer  to 
another,  when,  perchance,  they  had  just  ridden  by  Mr.  Meadows'  house 
while  a  wagoner's  team  was  feeding  at  his  camp.  To  this  respectable 
couple  there  had  been  born  only  one  offspring,  a  daughter.  Miss  Clary 
Meadows  had  lived  to  the  age  of  twenty-four,  and  had  never,  within  the 
knowledge  of  any  of  the  neighbors,  had  the  first  beau.  If  to  the  fact 
that  her  father's  always  having  corn  to  sell,  without  his  neighbors 
knowing  exactly  how  he  came  by  it,  had  to  a  considerable  extent  dis- 
couraged visiting  between  their  families  and  his  (though  it  must  be 
owned  that  this  was  not  the  fault  of  the  Meadowses,  who  had  repeat- 
edly, in  spite  of  their  superior  fortune,  shown  dispositions  to  cultivate 
good  neighborhood  with  all  the  families  around) — if  to  this  fact  be  added 
the  further  one,  that  Miss  Clary  was  bony,  and  in  no  respect  possessed 
of  charms  likely  to  captivate  a  young  gentleman  who  had  thoughts  upon 
marriage,  it  ought  not  to  be  very  surprising  that  she  had,  thus  far, 
failed  to  secure  a  husband.  Nevertheless,  Miss  Meadows  was  em- 
inently affable  when  in  the  society  of  such  gentlemen  of  the  wagoners 
who  paid  her  the  compliment  to  call  upon  her  in  the  house.  So  that 
2 


TO  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

no  person,  however  suspicious,  would  have  concluded  from  her  manner 
on  such  occasions  that  her  prolonged  state  of  single  blessedness  was 
owing  to  any  prejudice  to  the  opposite  sex. 

Time,  however,  brings  roses,  as  the  German  proverb  has  it,  and  to  the 
Meadows  family  he  at  last  brought  a  rose-bud  in  the  shape  of  a  thriving 
grandson.  As  it  does  not  become  us  to  pry  into  delicate  family  matters, 
we  will  not  presume  to  lift  the  veil  which  the  persons  most  concerned 
chose  to  throw  over  the  earlier  part  of  this  grandson's  history ;  suffice 
it  to  say  that  the  same  mystery  hung  about  it  as  about  the  inexpli- 
cable inexhaustibility  of  Timothy  Meadows'  corn  crib,  and  that  the 
latter  —  from  motives,  doubtless,  which  did  him  honor  —  bestowed 
upon  the  new-comer  his  own  family  name,  preceded  by  the  patriarchal 
appellation  of  Israel. 

There  were  many  interesting  occurrences  in  the  early  life  of  Israel 
which  it  would  be  foreign  to  the  purposes  of  this  history  to  relate.  It 
is  enough  to  say  that  he  grew  up  under  the  eye  and  training  of  his 
grandfather,  and  soon  showed  that  some  of  the  traits  of  that  gentleman's 
character  were  in  no  danger  of  being  lost  to  society  by  a  failure  of 
reproduction. 

In  process  of  time,  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Meadows  were  gathered  to  their 
fathers,  and  Miss  Clary  had  become  the  proprietress  of  the  cottage 
and  the  farm.  Israel  had  the  luck  of  the  Meadowses  to  be  always  able 
to  sell  corn  to  the  wagoners.  But  unluckily,  the  secret  which  lay  hid- 
den in  such  profundity  during  the  lifetime  of  his  grandfather,  of  how 
this  wonderful  faculty  existed,  transpired  about  six  months  previously 
to  the  period  when  he  was  introduced  to  the  reader  —  a  circumstance 
which  would  induce  one  to  suspect,  in  spite  of  the  declaration  of  the 
law  in  such  case  made  and  provided,  that  there  was  something  in  the 
blood  of  Israel  which  was  not  all  Meadows. 

One  Saturday  night,  a  company  of  the  neighbors  on  patrol  found  a 
negro  man  issuing  from  the  gate  of  Miss  Meadows'  yard  with  an  empty 
meal  bag.  Having  apprehended  him,  they  had  given  him  not  more 
than  a  dozen  stripes  with  a  cowhide  before  he  confessed  that  he  had 
just  carried  the  bag  full  of  corn  to  Israel  from  his  master's  corn  crib. 
The  company  immediately  aroused  the  latter  gentleman,  informed  him 
what  the  slave  had  confessed,  and  although  he  did  most  stoutly  deny 
any  and  all  manner  of  connection  with  the  matter,  they  informed  him 
that  they  should  not  leave  the  premises  until  they  could  get  a  search- 
warrant  from  a  neighboring  magistrate,  by  which,  as  their  spokesman,  a 


THE   GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  ii 

shrewd  man,  said,  they  could  identify  the  corn.  This  was  a  ruse  to  bring 
him  to  terms.  Seeing  his  uneasiness,  they  pushed  on,  and  in  a  careless 
manner  proposed  that  if  he  would  leave  the  neighborhood  by  the  next 
Monday  morning,  they  would  forbear  to  prosecute  him  for  this  as  well 
as  many  similar  offences,  his  guilt  of  which  they  intimated  they  had 
abundant  proof  to  establish.  Israel  was  caught ;  he  reflected  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then,  still,  however,  asserting  his  innocence,  but  de- 
claring that  he  did  not  wish  to  reside  in  a  community  where  he  was 
suspected  of  crime,  he  expressed  his  resolution  to  comply  with  their 
demand.  He  left  the  next  day.  Leaving  his  mother,  he  set  out  to 
try  his  fortune  elsewhere,  intending  by  the  time  that  the  homestead 
could  be  disposed  of,  he  would  remove  with  her  to  the  West.  But  de- 
termining not  to  be  idle  in  the  meantime,  after  wandering  about  for 
several  days  in  search  of  employment,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  one 
night,  after  a  day's  travel,  that  he  would  endeavor  to  get  a  school  for 
the  remainder  of  the  year. 

Now,  Israel's  education  had  been  somewhat  neglected.  Indeed,  he 
had  never  been  to  school  a  day  in  his  whole  life.  But  he  had  at  home, 
under  the  tuition  of  his  mother,  been  taught  reading  and  writing,  and 
his  grandfather  had  imparted  to  him  some  knowledge  of  arithmetic. 

But  Mr.  Israel  Meadows,  although  not  a  man  of  great  learning,  was 
a  great  way  removed  from  being  a  fool.  He  had  a  considerable 
amount  of  the  wisdom  of  this  world  which  comes  to  a  man  from 
other  sources  besides  books.  He  was  like  many  other  men  in  one 
respect.  He  was  not  to  be  restrained  from  taking  office  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  parts  inadequate  to  the  discharge  of  its  duties.  This  is 
a  species  of  delicacy  which,  of  all  others,  is  attended  by  fewest  practi- 
cal results.  Generally,  the  most  it  does  is  to  make  its  owner  confess 
with  modesty  his  unfitness  for  the  office,  with  a  'he  had  hoped  some 
worthier  and  better  man  had  been  chosen,'  and  then  —  take  it.  Israel 
wisely  reflected,  that  with  a  majority  of  mankind  the  only  thing  neces- 
sary to  establish  for  oneself  a  reputation  of  fitness  for  office  is  to  run 
for  it  and  get  into  it.  A  wise  reflection  indeed  ;  acting  on  which,  many 
men  have  become  great  in  Georgia,  and,  I  doubt  not,  elsewhere,  with 
no  other  capital  than  the  adroitness  or  the  accident  which  placed  them 
in  office.  He  reflected  furdier,  and  as  wisely  as  before,  that  the  office 
of  a  schoolmaster  in  a  country  school  was  as  little  likely  as  any  he 
could  think  of  to  furnish  an  exception  to  the  general  rule.  Thus,  in 
less  than  six  weeks  from  the  eventful  Saturday  night,  with  a  list  of 


12  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

school  articles  which  he  had  picked  up  in  his  travels,  he  had  applied 
for,  and  had  obtained,  and  had  opened  the  Goosepond  school,  and 
was  professing  to  teach  the  children  spelling,  reading,  and  writing,  at 
the  rate  of  a  dollar  a  month ;  and  arithmetic  and  geography  at  the 
advanced  rate  of  a  dollar  and  a  half. 

Such  were  some  of  Mr.  Meadows'  antecedents. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  pupils  in  the  Goosepond,  as  in  most  of 
the  other  country  schools  of  those  times,  to  study  aloud.  Whether 
the  teachers  thought  that  the  mind  could  not  act  unless  the  tongue 
was  a-going,  or  that  the  tongue  a-going  v/as  the  only  evidence  that 
the  mind  was  acting,  it  never  did  appear.  Such  had  been  the  custom, 
and  Mr.  Meadows  did  not  aspire  to  be  an  innovator.  It  was  his  rule, 
however,  that  there  should  be  perfect  silence  on  his  arrival,  in  order 
to  give  him  an  opportunity  of  saying  or  doing  anything  he  might  wish. 
This  morning  there  did  not  seem  to  be  anything  on  his  mind  which  re- 
quired to  be  lifted  off.  He,  however,  looked  at  Brinkly  Glisson  with 
some  disappointment  of  expression.  He  had  beaten  him  unmercifully 
the  morning  before  for  not  having  gotten  there  in  time,  though  the 
boy's  excuse  was  that  he  had  gone  a  mile  out  of  his  way  on  an  errand 
for  his  mother.  He  looked  at  him  as  if  he  had  expected  to  have  had 
some  business  with  him,  which  now  unexpectedly  had  to  be  postponed. 
He  then  looked  around  over  the  school  and  said : 

"  Go  to  studyin'." 

It  was  plain  that  in  that  house  Mr.  Meadows  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  speaking  but  to  command,  and  of  commanding  but  to  be  obeyed. 
Instantaneously  was  heard,  then  and  there,  that  unintelligible  tumult, 
the  almost  invariable  incident  of  the  country  schools  of  that  genera- 
tion. There  were  spellers  and  readers,  geographers  and  arithme- 
ticians, all  engaged  in  their  several  pursuits,  in  the  most  inexplicable 
confusion.  Sometimes  the  spellers  would  have  the  heels  of  the  others, 
and  sometimes  the  readers.  The  geographers  were  always  third,  and 
the  arithmeticians  always  behind.  It  was  very  plain  to  be  seen  that 
these  last  never  would  catch  the  others.  The  faster  they  added  or 
subtracted,  the  oftener  they  had  to  rub  out  and  commence  anew.      It 


THE  GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  13 

was  always  but  a  short  time  before  they  found  this  to  be  the  case,  and 
so  they  generally  concluded  to  adopt  the  maxim  of  the  philosopher,  of 
being  slow  in  making  haste.  The  geographers  were  a  little  faster  and 
a  little  louder.  But  the  spellers  and  readers  had  it,  I  tell  you.  Each 
speller  and  each  reader  went  through  the  whole  gamut  of  sounds,  from 
low  up  to  high,  and  from  high  down  to  low  again  ;  sometimes  by  regu- 
lar ascension  and  descension,  one  note  at  a  time,  sounding  what  musi- 
cians call  the  diatonic  intervals ;  at  other  times,  going  up  and  coming 
down  upon  the  perfect  fifths  only.  Oh  !  it  was  so  refreshing  to  see  the 
passionate  eagerness  which  these  urchins  manifested  for  the  acquisi- 
tion of  knowledge.  To  have  sliced  out  about  five  seconds  of  that 
studying,  and  put  the  words  together,  would  have  made  a  sentence 
somewhat  like  the  following : 

"  C-d-e  twice  e-an  c-three  r-ding-i-two  1-v-old.  My  seven  vill  times 
a-de-l-cru-i-1  coin-g-f-is  man  o-six-h-nin-four  ni-h-eight  cat  p-c-a-t-r  ten 
e-light  is  ca-light  i-light  x  tween-by-tions  fix  de-a-bisel-cru-fa-cor-a-light- 
biselrapt-double-fe-good  ty-light  man  cra-forn-ner-ci-spress-fix-Oh  ! ! !  " 

To  have  heard  them  for  the  first  time,  one  would  have  been  remind- 
ed of  the  Apostles'  preaching  at  Pentecost,  and  it  might  not  have  been 
difficult  to  persuade  a  stranger,  unused  to  such  things,  that  there  were 
then  and  there  spoken  the  languages  of  the  Parthians  and  Medes, 
Elamites  and  the  dwellers  in  Mesopotamia,  and  in  Judea  and  Cappa- 
docia  ;  in  Pontus  and  Asia ;  Phrygia  and  Pamphylia  ;  in  Egypt  and 
in  the  parts  of  Syria  about  Cyrene ;  and  strangers  of  Rome,  Jews  and 
Proselytes,  Cretes  and  Arabians.  Sometimes  these  cloven  tongues 
would  subside  a  little,  when  it  might  be  half  a  dozen  would  stop  to 
blow  j  but  in  a  moment  more,  the  chorus  would  swell  again  in  a  new 
and  livelier  accrescaido. —  When  this  process  had  gone  on  for  half  an 
hour,  Mr.  Meadows  lifted  up  his  voice  and  shouted  "  Silence  ! "  and  all 
was  still. 

Now  were  to  commence  the  recitations,  during  which  perfect  silence 
was  required.  For  as  great  a  help  to  study  as  this  jargon  was,  Mr. 
Meadows  found  that  it  did  not  contribute  any  aid  to  the  doing  of  his 
work. 

He  now  performed  a  feat  which  he  had  never  performed  before  in 
exactly  that  manner.  He  put  his  hand  behind  the  lappel  of  his  coat- 
collar  for  a  moment,  and  then,  after  withdrawing  it  and  holding  it  up,  his 
thumb  and  forefinger  joined  together,  he  said: 

"  There  is  too  much  fuss  here.     I'm  going  to  drop  this  pin,  and  I 


14  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

shall  whip  every  single  one  of  you  little  boys  that  don't  hear  it  when  it 
falls.     Thar ! " 

*'  I  heerd  it,  Mr.  Meadows  !  I  heerd  it,  Mr.  Meadows ! "  exclaimed 
simultaneously,  five  or  six  little  fellows. 

"  Come  up  here,  j'ou  little  rascals.  You  are  a  liar  !  "  said  he  to  each 
one.  "I  never  drapped  it;  I  never  had  nary  one  to  drap.  It  just 
shows  what  liars  you  are.  Set  down  and  wait  a  while,  I'll  show  you  how 
to  tell  me  lies." 

The  little  liars  slunk  to  their  seats,  and  the  recitations  commenced. 
Memory  was  the  only  faculty  of  mind  that  underwent  the  smallest 
development  at  this  school.  Whoever  could  say  exactly  what  the  book 
said  was  adjudged  to  know  his  lesson.  About  half  of  the  pupils  on 
this  morning  were  successful.  The  other  half  were  found  to  be  delin- 
quent. Among  these  was  Asa  Boatright's  class.  That  calculating 
young  gentleman  knew  his  words  and  felt  safe.  The  class  had  spelled 
around  three  or  four  times,  when  lo !  the  contingency  which  Allen 
Thigpen  had  suggested  did  come  to  pass.  Betsy  Wiggins  missed  her 
word  \  Heneritter  Bangs  (in  the  language  of  Allen)  hern,  and  Mandy 
Grizzle  hern ;  and  thus  responsibilities  were  suddenly  cast  upon  Asa 
which  he  was  wholly  unprepared  to  meet,  and  which,  from  the  look  of 
mighty  reproach  which  he  gave  each  of  these  young  ladies  as  she 
handed  over  to  him  her  word,  he  evidently  thought  it  the  height  of 
injustice  that  he  should  have  been  called  upon  to  meet.  Mr.  Mead- 
ows closing  the  book,  tossed  it  to  Asa,  who,  catching  it  as  it  was  falling 
at  his  feet,  turned,  and  his  eyes  swimming  with  tears,  went  back  to  his 
seat.     As  he  passed  Allen  Thigpen,  the  latter  whispered : 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ?     You  heerd  the  pin  drap  too  !  " 

Now,  Allen  was  in  no  plight  to  have  given  this  taunt  to  Asa.  He 
had  not  given  five  minutes'  study  to  his  arithmetic  during  the  whole 
morning.  But  Mr.  Meadows  made  a  rule  (this  one  with  himself,  though 
all  the  pupils  knew  it  better  than  any  rule  he  had),  never  to  allow  Allen 
to  miss  a  lesson  ;  and  as  he  had  kindly  taken  this  responsibility  upon 
himself,  Allen  was  wont  to  give  himself  no  trouble  about  the  matter. 

Brinkly  Glisson  was  the  last  to  recite.  Brinkly  was  no  great  hand 
at  pronunciation.  He  had  been  reading  but  a  short  time  when  Mr. 
Meadows  advanced  him  into  geography,  with  the  purpose,  as  Brinkly 
afterwards  came  to  believe,  of  getting  the  half  dollar  extra  tuition. 
This  morning  he  thought  he  knev/  his  lesson  ;  and  he  did,  as  he  under- 
stood it.     When  called  to  recite,  he  went  up  with  a  countenance  express- 


THE   GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  15 

ive  of  mild  happiness,  handed  the  book  to  Mr.  Meadows,  and  putting 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  awaited  the  questions.  And  now  it  was  an 
interesting  sight  to  see  Mr.  Meadows  smile  as  Brinkly  talked  of  is-lands 
and  promonitaries,  thismuses  and  hemispheries.  The  lad  misunder- 
stood that  smile,  and  his  heart  was  glad  for  the  unexpected  reception 
of  a  little  complacency  from  the  master.     But  he  was  not  long  in  error, 

"  Is-lands,  eh  ?  Thismuses,  eh .?  Take  this  book  and  see  if  you  can 
find  any  is-lands  and  promonitaries,  and  then  bring  them  to  me.  I 
want  to  see  them  things,  I  do.     Find  'em  if  you  please," 

Brinkly  took  the  book,  and  it  would  have  melted  the  heart  of  any 
other  man  than  Israel  Meadows  to  have  seen  the  deep  despair  of  his 
heart  as  he  looked  on  it  and  was  spelling  over  to  himself  the  words  as 
he  came  to  them. 

"  Mr.  Meadows,"  he  said,  in  pleading  tones,  "  I  thought  it  was  is-land. 
Here  it  is,  Is-1-a-n-d-land  :  is-land;"  and  he  looked  into  his  face  be- 
seechingly, 

"  Is-land,  eh .?  Is-land!  Now,  thismuses  and  promonitaries  and 
hemispheries  — " 

"  Mr.  Meadows,  I  did  not  know  how  to  pronounce  them  words.  I 
asked  you  how  to  pronounce  'em,  and  you  wouldn't  tell  me ;  and  I 
asked  Allen,  and  he  told  me  the  way  I  said  them." 

"  I  believe  that  to  be  a  lie." 

Brinkly's  face  reddened,  and  his  breathing  was  fast  and  hard.  He 
looked  at  the  master  as  but  once  or  twice  before  during  the  term  he 
had  looked  at  him,  but  made  no  answer.  At  that  moment  Allen  leaned 
carelessly  on  his  desk,  his  elbows  resting  on  it,  and  his  chin  on  his 
hands,  and  said,  dryly  : 

"Yes,  I  did  tell  him  so." 

Mr.  Meadows  now  reddened  a  little.  After  a  moment's  pause,  how- 
ever, he  said : 

"  How  often  have  I  got  to  tell  you  not  to  ask  anybody  but  me  how 
to  pronounce  words  ?     That'll  do,  sir  ;  sit  down,  sir." 

Brinkly  went  to  his  seat,  and  looking  gloomily  towards  the  door  a 
minute  or  two,  he  opened  his  book,  but  studied  it  no  more. 


1 6  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Mr.  Meadows  now  set  about  what  was  the  only  agreeable  portion 
of  the  duties  of  his  new  vocation,  the  punishment  of  offenders.  The 
lawyers  tell  us  that,  of  all  the  departments  of  the  law,  the  vindicatory 
is  the  most  important.  This  element  of  the  Goosepond  establishment 
had  been  cultivated  so  much  that  it  had  grown  to  become  almost  the 
only  one  that  was  consulted  at  all.  As  for  the  declaratory  and  the 
directory,  they  seemed  to  be  considered,  when  clearly  understood,  as 
impediments  to  a  fair  showing  and  proper  development  of  the  vindi- 
catory, insomuch  that  the  last  was  often  by  their  means  disappointed 
of  its  victim.  Sometimes,  when  his  urchins  would  not  "  miss,"  or 
violate  some  of  his  numerous  laws,  Mr.  Meadows  used,  in  the  plenitude 
of  his  power,  to  put  the  vindicatory  first  —  punish  an  offender,  and  then 
declare  what  the  latter  had  done  to  be  an  offence,  and  then  direct  him 
that  he  had  better  not  do  so  any  more.  This  Mr.  Meadows  seemed 
to  owe  a  grudge  to  society.  Whether  this  was  because  society  had  not 
given  him  a  father  as  it  had  done  to  almost  everybody  else,  or  because 
it  had  interfered  in  the  peaceful  occupation  which  he  had  inherited 
from  his  grandfather  (as  if  to  avenge  itself  on  him  for  violating  one  of 
its  express  commands  that  such  as  he  should  inherit  from  nobody), — 
did  not  appear.  But  he  owed  it,  and  he  delighted  in  paying  it  off  in 
his  peculiar  way ;  this  was  by  beating  the  children  of  his  school,  every 
one  of  whom  had  a  father.  Eminently  combative  by  nature,  it  was 
both  safest  and  most  satisfactory  to  wage  his  warfare  on  this  general 
scale.  So,  on  this  fine  morning,  by  way  of  taking  up  another  instal- 
ment of  this  immense  debt,  which  like  most  other  debts  seemed  as  if 
it  never  would  get  fully  paid,  he  took  down  his  bundle  of  rods  from 
two  pegs  in  one  of  the  logs  on  which  he  had  placed  them,  selected  one 
fit  for  his  purpose,  and  taking  his  position  in  the  middle  of  the  space 
between  the  fireplace  and  the  rows  of  desks,  he  sat  down  in  his  chair. 
A  cheerful,  but  by  no  means  a  gladsome  smile  overspread  his  counten- 
ance as  he  said : 

"  Them  spellin'  classes  and  readin'  classes,  and  them  others  that's 
got  to  be  whipped,  all  but  Sam  Pate  and  Asa  Boatright,  come  to  the 
circus." 

Five  or  six  boys  and  as  many  girls,  from  eight  to  thirteen  years  old, 
came  up,  and  sitting  down  on  the  front  bench  which  extended  all  along 


THE   GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  17 

the  length  of  the  two  rows  of  desks,  pulled  off  their  shoes  and  stock- 
ings. The  boys  then  rolled  up  their  pants,  and  the  girls  lifted  the 
skirts  of  their  frocks  to  their  knees,  and  having  made  a  ring  around 
Mr.  Meadows  as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  all  began  a  brisk  trot.  They  had 
described  two  or  three  revolutions,  and  Mr.  Meadows  was  straightening 
his  switch,  when  Asa  Boatright  ran  up,  and,  crying  piteously,  said  : 

"  Please  sir,  Mr.  Meadows  —  oh  pray  do  sir,  Mr.  Meadows  —  let  me 
go  into  the  circus  !  " 

Mr.  Meadows  rose  up  and  was  about  to  strike ;  but  another  thought 
seemed  to  occur  to  him.  He  looked  at  him  amusedly  for  a  moment, 
and  pointed  to  his  seat.  Asa  took  it.  Mr.  Meadows  resumed  his  chair, 
and  went  into  the  exciting  part  of  the  exhibition  by  tapping  the  legs, 
both  male  and  female,  as  they  trotted  around  him.  This  was  done  at 
first  very  gently,  and  almost  lovingly.  But  as  the  sport  warmed  in  in- 
terest, the  blows  increased  in  rapidity  and  violence.  The  children  be- 
gan to  cry  out,  and  then  Mr.  Meadows  struck  the  harder  ;  for  it  was  a 
rule  (oh  he  was  a  mighty  man  for  rules,  this  same  Mr.  Meadows)  that 
whoever  cried  the  loudest  should  be  hit  the  hardest.  He  kept  up  this 
interesting  exercise  until  he  had  given  them  about  twenty-five  lashes 
apiece.  He  then  ceased.  They  stopped  instantly,  walked  around  him 
once,  then  seating  themselves  upon  the  bench  they  resumed  their  shoes 
and  stockings,  and  went  to  their  seats.  One  girl,  thirteen  years  old, 
Henrietta  Bangs,  had  begged  him  to  let  her  keep  on  her  stockings; 
but  Mr.  Meadows  was  too  firm  a  disciplinarian  to  allow  it.  When 
the  circus  was  over  she  put  on  her  shoes,  and  taking  up  her  stockings 
and  putting  them  under  her  apron,  she  went  to  her  seat  and  sobbed  as 
if  her  heart  was  broken. 

Allen  Thigpen  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  turned  his 
eyes  slowly  around  and  looked  at  Brinkly  Glisson.  The  latter  did  not 
notice  him.  He  sat  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  lips  com- 
pressed. Allen  knew  what  struggle  was  going  on,  but  he  could  not  tell 
how  it  was  going  to  end.     Mr.  Meadows  rested  three  minutes. 

It  has  possibly  occurred  to  those  who  may  be  reading  this  little  his- 
tory that  it  was  a  strange  thing  in  Asa  Boatright,  who  so  well  knew  all 
the  ways  of  Mr.  MeadoA-s,  that  he  should  have  expressed  so  decisive  a 
wish  to  take  part  in  this  last  described  exhibition, —  an  exhibition 
which,  however  entertaining  to  Mr.  Meadows  as  it  doubtless  was,  and 
might  be  perchance  to  other  persons  placed  in  the  attitude  of  specta- 
tors merely,  could  not  be  in  the  highest  degree  agreeable  to  one  in  the 
3 


i8  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

attitude  which  Master  Asa  must  have  foreseen  that  he  would  be  made 
to  assume  had  Mr,  Meadows  vouchsafed  to  yield  to  his  request.  But 
Asa  Boatright  was  not  a  fool,  nor  was  he  a  person  who  had  no  care  for 
his  physical  wellbeing.  In  other  words,  Asa  Boatright  knew  what  he 
was  about. 

"  Sam  Pate  and  Asa  Boatright !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Meadows,  after  his 
rest.     "  Come  out  here  and  go  to  horsin'." 

The  two  nags  came  out.  Master  Pate  playfully  inclined  himself 
forward,  and  Master  Boatright  leaped  with  some  agility  upon  his  back. 
The  former,  gathering  the  latter's  legs  under  his  arms,  and  drawing  as 
tightly  as  possible  his  pants  across  his  middle,  began  galloping  gaily 
around  the  area  before  the  fireplace.  Mr.  Meadows,  after  taking  a 
fresh  hickory,  began  to  apply  it  with  great  force  and  precision  to  that 
part  of  Master  Boatright's  little  body  which,  in  his  present  attitude, 
was  most  exposed.  Every  application  of  this  kind  caused  that  young 
gentleman  to  scream  to  the  utmost  of  the  strength  of  his  voice,  and 
even  to  make  spasmodic  efforts  to  kick,  which  Master  Pate,  being  for 
the  occasion  a  horse,  was  to  understand  as  an  expression  on  the  part 
of  his  rider  that  he  should  get  on  faster,  and  so  Master  Pate  must 
frisk  and  prance  and  otherwise  imitate  a  horse  as  well  as  possible  in 
the  circumstances.  Now,  the  circumstances  being  that  as  soon  as 
Master  Boatright  should  have  ridden  long  enough  to  become  incapa- 
citated from  riding  a  real  horse  with  comfort,  they  were  to  reverse  posi- 
tions, Master  Boatright  becoming  horse  and  himself  rider,  they  were 
hardly  sufficient  to  make  him  entirely  forget  his  identity  in  the  persona- 
tion of  that  quadruped.  He  did  his  best,  though,  in  the  circumstances, 
such  as  they  were,  and  not  only  frisked  and  pranced  but  actually 
neighed  several  times.  When  Asa  was  placed  in  the  condition  hinted 
at  above,  he  was  allowed  to  dismount.  Sam  having  mounted  on  his 
back,  it  was  truly  stirring  to  the  feelings  to  see  the  latter  kick  and  the 
former  prance.  This  was  always  the  best  part  of  the  show.  A  rule  of 
this  exercise  was  that,  when  the  rider  should  dismount  and  become 
horse,  he  was  to  act  well  his  part  or  be  made  to  resume  the  part  of 
rider, —  a  prospect  not  at  all  agreeable,  each  one  decidedly  preferring  to 
be  horse.  Sam  was  about  three  years  older  and  fifteen  pounds  heavier 
than  Asa.  Now,  while  Asa  had  every  motive  which  as  sensible  a 
horse  as  he  was  could  have  to  do  his  best,  yet  he  was  so  sore,  and  Sam, 
with  the  early  prospect  of  butting  his  brains  out,  was  so  heavy,  that  he 
had  great  difficulties.      He  exhibited  the  most  laudable  desire  and 


THE   COOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  19 

made  the  most  faithful  efforts  to  prance,  but  he  could  not  keep  his 
feet.  Finding  that  he  could  do  no  great  things  at  prancing,  he  en- 
deavored to  make  up  by  neighing.  When  Sam  would  cry  out  and  kick, 
Asa  Avould  neigh.  He  would  occasionally  run  against  the  wall  and 
neigh  as  if  he  was  perfectly  delighted.  He  would  lift  up  one  foot  and 
neigh.  He  would  put  it  down,  lift  up  the  other  and  neigh.  Then  when 
he  would  attempt  to  lift  up  both  feet  at  once,  he  would  fall  down  and 
neigh.  But  he  would  neigh  even  in  the  act  of  rising,  apparently  re- 
solved to  convince  the  world  that,  notwithstanding  appearances  to  the 
contrary,  he  was  as  real  and  as  plucky  a  little  horse  as  had  ever  trotted. 
Never  before  had  Asa  acted  his  part  so  well  in  the  Horsin'  at  the 
Goosepond.  Never  had  horse,  with  such  odds  on  his  back,  neighed 
so  lustily.  Sam  screamed  and  kicked.  Asa  pranced  and  neighed, 
until  at  last,  as  he  stumbled  violently  against  the  bench,  Sam  let  go  his 
hold  upon  Asa's  neck,  in  order  to  avoid  breaking  his  own,  and  fell 
sprawling  on  his  belly  under  a  desk.  This  sudden  removal  of  the 
burden  from  Asa's  back  made  his  efforts  to  recover  from  his  false  step 
successful  beyond  all  calculation,  and  he  fell  backward,  headforemost, 
upon  the  floor.  Mr.  Meadows,  contrary  to  his  wont,  roared  with  laughter. 
His  soul  was  satisfied  ;  he  dropped  his  switch,  and  ordered  them  to 
their  seats.  They  obeyed,  and  sat  down  with  that  graduated  declen- 
sion of  body  in  which  experience  had  taught  them  to  be  prudent. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

After  the  close  of  the  last  performance,  Mr.  Meadows  seemed  to  need 
another  resting  spell.  This  lasted  five  minutes.  He  always  liked  to 
be  as  fresh  as  possible  for  the  next  scene.  The  most  interesting,  the 
most  exciting,  and  in  some  respects  the  most  delightful  exercise  was 
yet  to  follow.  This  was  the  punishment  of  Brinkly  Glisson.  It  was 
curious  to  see  how  he  did  enjoy  it.  He  was  never  so  agreeable  at  play- 
time or  in  the  afternoon  as  when  he  had  beaten  Brinkly  in  the  morning. 
If  he  recited  w-ell,  and  there  was  no  pretext  for  beating  him,  Mr. 
Meadows  was  sadder  and  gloomier  than  usual  for  the  remainder  of  the 
day,  and  looked  as  if  he  felt  that  he  had  been  wronged  with  impunity. 
Now,  Brinkly  was  one  of  the  best  boys  in  the  world.  He  was  the 
only  son  of  a  poor  widow,  who,  at  much  sacrifice,  had  sent  him  to 


20  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

school.  He  had  pitched  and  tended  the  crop  of  a  few  acres  around 
the  house,  and  she  had  procured  the  promise  of  a  neighbor  to  help  her 
in  gathering  it  when  ripe.  Brinkly  was  the  apple  of  her  eye,  the  idol 
of  her  heart.  He  was  to  her  as  we  always  think  of  him  of  whom  it 
was  said,  '  He  was  the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and  she  was  a  widow.' 
And  Brinkly  had  rewarded  her  love  and  care  with  all  the  feelings  of 
his  honest  and  affectionate  heart.  He  was  more  anxious  to  learn  for 
her  sake  than  his  own.  He  soon  came  to  read  tolerably  well,  and  was 
advanced  to  geography.  How  proud  was  the  widow  when  she  bought 
the  new  geography  and  atlas  with  the  proceeds  of  four  pairs  of  socks 
which  (sweet  labor  of  love !)  she  had  knit  with  her  own  hands.  What 
a  world  of  knowledge  she  thought  there  must  be  in  a  book  with  five 
times  as  many  pages  as  a  spelling-book,  and  in  those  great  red,  blue, 
and  pink  pictures,  covering  a  whole  page  a  foot  square,  and  all  this 
knowledge  to  become  the  property  of  Brinkly  !  But  Brinkly  soon  found 
that  geography  was  above  his  present  capacity,  and  so  told  Mr.  Meadows. 
That  gentleman  received  the  communication  with  displeasure  ;  said  that 
what  was  the  matter  with  him  was  laziness,  and  that  laziness,  of  all  the 
qualities  which  a  boy  had,  was  the  one  which  he  knew  best  what  to  do 
with.  He  then  took  to  beating  him.  Brinkly,  after  the  first  beating, 
which  was  a  light  one,  went  home  and  told  his  mother  of  it,  and  inti- 
mated his  intention  not  to  take  another.  The  widow  was  sorely  dis- 
tressed, and  knew  not  what  to  do.  On  the  one  hand  was  her  grief  to 
know  her  son  was  unjustly  beaten,  and  his  spirit  cowed  •  for  she  knew 
that  he  studied  all  the  time  he  had,  and  though  uneducated  herself,  she 
was  not  like  many  other  parents  of  her  day  who  thought  that  the  best 
means  to  develop  the  mind  was  to  beat  the  body.  But  on  the  other 
hand  would  be  the  disappointment  of  his  getting  an  education  if  he 
should  leave  the  school,  there  being  then  no  other  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. This,  thought  the  poor  woman,  was  the  worse  horn  of  the 
dilemma  ;  and  so  she  wept,  and  begged  him,  as  he  loved  her,  to  sub- 
mit to  Mr.  Meadows.  He  should  have  the  more  time  for  study ;  she 
would  chop  the  wood  and  feed  the  stock  \  he  should  have  all  the  time 
at  home  to  himself;  he  could  get  it,  she  knew  he  could;  it  would 
come  to  him  after  a  while. 

Brinkly  yielded  ;  but  how  many  a  hard  struggle  he  made  to  continue 
that  submission,  no  one  knew  but  he,  —  not  even  his  mother,  for  he 
concealed  from  her  as  much  as  he  could  the  treatment  which  he  had 
received  and  the  suffering  which  he  had  endured.     Mr.  Meadows  could 


THE   COOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  21 

see  this  struggle  sometimes.  He  knew  that  the  boy  was  not  afraid  of 
him.  He  saw  it  in  his  eye  every  time  he  beat  him,  and  it  was  this  which 
afforded  him  such  a  satisfaction  to  beat  him.  He  wished  to  subdue 
him,  and  he  had  not  succeeded.  Brinkly  would  never  beg  nor  weep. 
Mr.  Meadows  often  thought  he  v;as  on  the  point  of  resisting  him  ;  but 
he  knew  the  reason  why  he  did  not,  and  while  he  hated  him  for  it,  he 
trusted  that  it  would  last.  Yet  he  often  doubted  whether  it  would  or 
not ;  and  thus  the  matter  became  so  intensely  exciting  that  he  con- 
tinually sought  for  opportunities  of  bringing  it  up.  He  loved  to  tempt 
him.  He  had  no  doubt  but  that  he  could  easily  manage  him  in  an 
even  combat ;  but  he  did  not  wish  it  to  come  to  that.  He  only  gloried 
in  goading  him  almost  to  resistance,  and  then  seeing  him  yield. 

Have  we  not  all  seen  how  the  showman  adapts  himself  to  the  different 
animals  of  the  menagerie  ?  How  quickly  and  sharply  he  speaks  to  the 
lesser  animals  who  jump  over  his  hand  and  back,  and  over  and  back 
again,  and  then  crouch  in  submission  as  he  passes  by  !  But  when  he 
goes  to  the  lion,  you  can  scarcely  hear  his  low  tones  as  he  commands 
him  to  use  and  perform  his  part,  and  is  not  certain  whether  the  king  of 
the  beasts  will  do  as  he  is  bidden  or  not.  Doubts  like  these  were  in 
the  mind  of  Mr.  Meadows  when  he  was  about  to  set  upon  Brinkly 
Glisson  ;  but  the  greater  these  doubts,  the  more  he  enjoyed  the  trial. 
After  a  short  rest  from  the  fatigues  of  the  last  exercise,  during  which 
he  curiously  and  seriously  eyed  the  lad,  he  rose  from  his  seat,  paced 
slowly  across  the  room  once  or  twice,  and  taking  a  hickory  switch,  the 
longest  of  all  he  had,  he  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  in  a 
low,  quiet  tone,  said  : 

"  Brinkly  Glisson,  come." 

Allen  had  been  eyeing  Brinkly  all  the  time  since  the  close  of  the 
circus.  He  saw  the  conflict  which  was  going  on  in  his  soul,  and  when 
Mr.  Meadows  had  burst  into  the  paroxysm  of  laughter  at  the  untoward 
ending  of  the  'horsin','  he  thought  he  saw  that  the  conflict  was  ended. 

Slowly  and  calmly  Brinkly  rose  from  his  seat,  and  walked  up  and 
stood  before  Mr.  Meadows. 

"  Why,  hi  1 "  thought  Allen. 

"Off  with  your  coat,  sir,"  —  low  and  gentle,  and  with  a  countenance 
almost  smiling.  Brinkly  stcd  iiiotionless.  But  he  had  done  so  once 
or  twice  before,  in  similar  circumstances,  and  at  length  yielded.  "  Off 
v/ith  ir,  sir,"  —  louder  and  not  so  gentle.  No  motion  en  Brinkly's  part, 
not  even  in  his  eyes,  which  looked  steadily  into  the  master's,  with  a 
meaning  which  he  nearly,  but  not  quite  understood. 


22  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES 

"  Aint  you  going  to  pull  off  that  coat,  sir  ? " 

"  What  for  ? "  asked  Brinkly. 

"  What  for,  sir  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  what  for  ? " 

"Because  I  am  going  to  give  you  this  hickory,  you  impudent  scoun- 
drel ;  and  if  you  don't  pull  it  off  this  minute,  I'll  give  you  sich  a  beatin' 
as'll  make  you  feel  like  you  never  was  whipped  before  since  you  was 
born.     Aint  you  going  to  pull  it  off,  sir  ? " 

"  Not  now,  sir," 

Allen  wriggled  on  his  seat,  and  his  face  shone  as  the  full  moon.  Mr. 
Meadows  retreated  a  step,  and  holding  his  switch  two  feet  from  the 
larger  end,  he  raised  that  end  to  strike. 

"  Stop  one  minute,  if  you  please." 

Mr.  Meadows  lowered  his  arm,  and  his  face  smiled  a  triumph.  This 
was  the  first  time  Brinkly  had  ever  begged.  He  chuckled.  Allen 
looked  disappointed. 

"  Stop,  eh  ?  I  yi !  This  end  looks  heavy,  does  it  ?  Well,  I  wouldn't 
be  surprised  if  it  warn't  sorter  heavy.  Will  3'ou  pull  off  3^our  coat  now, 
sir?" 

"  Mr.  Meadows,  I  asked  you  to  stop  because  I  wanted  to  say  a  few 
words  to  you.  You  have  beat  me  and  beat  me,  worse  than  you  ought 
to  beat  a  dog,"  (Allen's  face  getting  right  again) ;  "  and  God  in  heaven 
knows  that,  in  the  time  that  I  have  come  to  school  to  you,  I  have  tried 
as  hard  as  a  boy  ever  did  to  please  you  and  get  my  lessons.  I  can't 
understand  that  geography,  and  I  aint  been  reading  long  enough  to 
understand  it.  I  have  asked  you  to  let  me  quit.  Mother  has  asked 
you.  You  wouldn't  do  it;  but  beat  me,  and  beat  me,  and  beat  me," 
(there  is  no  telling  whether  Allen  wants  to  laugh  or  to  cry),  "and  now, 
the  more  I  study  it,  the  more  I  don't  understand  it.  I  would  have  quit 
school  long  ago,  but  mother  was  so  anxious  for  me  to  learn,  and  made 
me  come.  And  now  I  have  took  off  my  coat  to  you  the  last  time." 
(Ah!  now  there  is  a  great  tear  in  Allen's  eye.)  "Listen  to  me,"  (as 
the  teacher's  hand  makes  a  slight  motion) ;  "  don't  strike  me.  I  know 
I'm  not  learning  anything,  and  your  beating  aint  going  to  make  me 
learn  any  faster.  If  you  are  determined  to  keep  me  in  this  geography, 
and  to  beat  me,  just  say  so,  and  I'll  take  my  hat  and  books  and  go 
home.  I'd  like  to  not  come  to-day,  but  I  thought  I  knew  my  lesson. 
Now,  I  say  again,  don't,  for  God's  sake,  don't  strike  me."  And  he 
raised  up  both  his  hands,  pale  and  trembling. 


THE   GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  2$ 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  surprise  and  rage  expressed 
orj  the  face  of  Mr.  Meadows  during  the  delivery  and  at  the  close  of 
this  little  harangue.  He  looked  at  the  boy  a  moment.  His  counte- 
nance expressed  the  deepest  sadness;  but  there  was  nothing  in  it  like 
defiance  or  threatening.  It  was  simply  sad  and  beseeching.  The 
master  hesitated,  and  looked  around  upon  his  school.  It  would  not 
do_  to  retreat  now,  he  thought.  With  an  imprecation,  he  raised  his 
switch  and  struck  with  all  his  might. 

"  My  God  !  "  cried  the  boy  ;  but  in  an  instant  sadness  and  beseeching 
passed  from  his  face.  The  long  pent-up  resentment  of  his  soul  gushed 
forth,  and  the  fury  of  a  demon  glared  from  his  eyes.  He  was  pre- 
paring to  spring  upon  Mr.  Meadows,  when  the  latter,  by  a  sudden  rush, 
caught  him  and  thrust  him  backward  over  the  front  bench.  They  both 
tumbled  on  the  floor,  between  the  rows  of  desks,  Mr.  Meadows  upper- 
most. 

*'  It's  come,"  said  Allen,  quietly,  as  he  rose  and  looked  down  upon 
the  combatants. 

Mr.  Meadows  attempted  to  disengage  himself  and  rise ;  but  Brinkly 
would  rise  with  him.  After  several  attempts  at  this,  Brinkly  managed 
to  get  upon  one  knee,  and  by  a  violent  jerk  to  bring  Mr.  Meadows 
down  upon  the  floor,  where  they  were,  in  the  phraseology  of  the  wrest- 
ling ring,  cross  and  pile.  Mr.  Meadows  shouted  to  two  or  three  of  the 
boys  to  hold  Brinkly  until  he  could  rise.  They  rose  to  obey,  but  Allen, 
without  saying  a  word,  put  out  his  hand  before  them,  and  motioning 
them  to  their  seats,  they  resumed  them.  And  now  the  contest  set  in 
for  good,  Mr.  Meadows  struggling  to  recover  his  advantage,  and 
Brinkly- to  improve  what  he  had  gained.  The  former's  right  arm  was 
thrown  across  the  latter's  neck,  his  right  hand  wound  in  and  pulling 
violently  his  hair,  while  his  left  hand  pressed  against  his  breast. 
Brinkly's  left  leg  was  across  Mr.  Meadows'  middle,  and  with  his  right 
against  a  stationary  desk,  his  right  arm  bent  and  lying  under  him  like 
a  lizard's,  and  his  left  in  Mr.  Meadows'  shirt-collar,  he  struggled  to 
get  uppermost;  but  whenever  he  attempted  to  raise  his  head,  that 
hand  wound  in  his  hair  would  instantly  bring  it  back  to  the  floor. 
When  Mr.  Meadows  would  attempt  to  disengage  himself  from  under- 
neath Brinkly's  leg,  that  member,  assisted  by  its  brother  from  the 
desk,  against  which  it  was  pressed,  held  it  like  the  boa  holds  the 
bullock.  Oh,  Mr.  Meadows,  Mr.  Meadows!  you  don't  know  the 
boy  that  grapples  with  you.     You  have  never  known  anything  at  all 


24  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

about  him,  Mr.  Meadows.  You  blow,  Mr.  Meadows  !  See  !  Brinkly 
blows  not  half  so  hard.  Remember,  you  walk  a  mile  to  and  from 
the  school,  and  Brinkly  seven,  often  running  the  first  half.  Besides, 
there  is  something  in  Brinkly's  soul  which  will  not  let  him  tire.  The 
remembrance  of  long  continued  wrongs,  which  cannot  longer  be  borne  ; 
the  long  subdued  but  now  inextinguishable  desire  of  revenge ;  every 
hostile  feeling  but  fear  —  all  these  are  now  dominant  in  that' simple 
heart,  and  they  have  made  of  him  a  man,  and  if  you  hope  to  conquer 
you  must  fight  as  you  never  have  fought  before,  and  never  may  have  to 
fight  again. 

Your  right  hand  pulls  less  vigorously  at  the  hair  of  Brinkly's  ascend- 
ing head.  Look  there  !  Brinkly's  leg  has  moved  an  inch  further  across 
you  !  Wring  and  twist,  Mr.  Meadows,  for  right  under  that  leg,  if  any- 
where for  you,  is  now  the  post  of  honor.  Can't  you  draw  out  your  left 
leg,  and  plant  it  against  the  desk  behind  you,  as  Brinkly  does  with  his 
right.  Alas !  no.  Brinkly  has  now  made  a  hook  of  his  left,  and  his 
heel  is  pressing  close  into  the  cavity  behind  your  knee.  Ah  !  that  was 
an  unlucky  move  for  you  then,  Mr.  Meadows,  when  you  let  Brinkly's 
hair  go,  and  thrust  both  of  your  hands  at  his  eyes.  You  must  have 
done  that  in  a  passion.  But  you  are  raking  him  some  now,  that  is 
certain.  But  see  there,  now !  he  has  released  his  grasp  at  your  shirt- 
collar,  and  thrown  his  left  arm  over  you.  Good  morning  to  you  now, 
Mr.  Meadows ! 

.  In  the  instant  that  Mr.  Meadows  had  released  his  hold  upon  his 
hair,  Brinkly,  though  he  was  being  gouged  terribly,  released  his  hold 
upon  his  collar,  threw  his  arm  over  his  neck,  and  pushing  with  all  his 
might  with  his  right  leg  against  the  desk,  and  making  a  corresponding 
pull  with  his  left,  he  succeeded  in  getting  fully  upon  him  j  then,  spring- 
ing up  quick  as  lightning,  as  Mr.  Meadows,  panting,  his  eyes  gleaming 
with  the  fury  of  an  enraged  tigress,  was  attempting  to  rise,  he  dealt 
him  a  blow  in  the  face  with  his  fist  which  sent  him  back  bleeding  like 
a  butchered  beast.  Once  more  the  master  attempted  to  rise,  and  those 
who  saw  it  will  never  forget  that  piteous  spectacle  of  rage,  and  shame, 
and  pain,  and  fear.  Once  more  Brinkly  struck  him  back.  How  that 
brave  boy's  face  shone  out  with  those  gaudia  ccrtaminis  which  the  brave 
always  feel  when  in  the  midst  of  an  inevitable  and  righteous  combat ! 
Springing  upon  his  adversary  again,  and  seizing  his  arms  and  pinioning 
them  under  his  knees,  he  wound  his  hands  in  his  shaggy  hair,  and 
raising  his  head,  thrust  it  down  several  times  with  all  his  might  against 
the  floor. 


THE  GOOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  25 

"  Spare  me !  for  God's  sake,  spare  me ! "  cried  Mr,  Meadows,  in 
tones  never  before  heard  from  him  in  that  house. 

Brinkly  stopped.  "  Spare  you ! "  he  said,  now  panting  himself.  "  Yes ! 
you  who  never  spared  anything  that  you  could  hurt !  Poor  cruel 
coward  !  You  loved  to  beat  other  people,  and  gloried  in  seeing  them 
suffering,  and  when  they  begged  you  to  spare  them,  you  laughed  — 
you  did.  Oh,  how  I  have  heard  you  laugh,  when  they  asked  you  to 
spare  them !  And  now  you  are  beat  yourself  and  whipped,  you  beg 
like  a  dog.  Yes,  and  I  will  spai'e  you,"  he  continued,  rising  from  him. 
"  It  would  be  a  pity  to  beat  any  such  a  poor  cowardly  human  any 
longer.  Now  go!  and  make  them  poor  things  there  go  to  horsin' 
again,  and  cut  'em  in  two  again  ;  and  then  get  in  the  circus  ring,  and 
make  them  others,  girls  and  all  —  yes,  girls  and  all  —  hold  up  their 
clothes  and  trot  around  you,  and  when  they  cry  like  you,  and  beg  you 
to  spare  'em,  do  you  laugh  again  !  " 

He  rose  and  turned  away  from  him.  Gathering  up  his  books,  he 
went  to  the  peg  whereon  his  hat  was  hanging,  and  was  in  the  act  of 
taking  it  down,  when  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  came  over  him, 
and  he  sat  down  and  wept. 

Oh,  the  feelings  in  that  poor  boy's  breast !  The  recollection  of 
the  cruel  wrongs  which  he  had  suffered ;  of  the  motives,  so  full  of 
pious  duty,  which  had  made  him  endure  them  ;  the  thought  of  how 
mistaken  had  been  the  wish  of  his  mother  that  he  should  endure  them  ; 
and  then  of  how  terribly  they  had  been  avenged.  These  all  meeting 
at  once  in  his  gentle  but  untaught  spirit,  overcame  it,  and  broke  it  into 
weeping. 

Meanwhile,  other  things  were  going  on.  Mr.  Meadows,  haggard, 
bruised,  bleeding,  covered  with  dirt,  slunk  off  towards  the  fireplace,  sat 
down  in  his  chair,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  The  pupils  had 
been  in  the  highest  states  of  alternate  alarm  and  astonishment.  They 
were  now  all  standing  about  their  seats,  looking  alternately  at  Brinkly 
and  Mr.  Meadows,  but  at  the  latter  mostly.  Their  countenances  plainly 
indicated  that  this  v/as  a  sight  which,  in  their  minds,  had  never  before 
been  vouchsafed  to  mortal  vision.  A  schoolmaster  whipped!  beat! 
choked  !  his  head  bumped  !  and  that  by  one  of  his  pupils  !  And  that 
schoolmaster,  Mr.  Meadows  !  —  Mr.  Meadows,  who,  ten  minutes  before, 
had  been  in  the  exercise  of  sovereign  and  despotic  authority.  And 
then  to  hear  him  beg!  A  schoolmaster  !  —  Mr.  Meadows!  —  to  hear 
him  actually  beg  Brinkly  to  spare  him  !  These  poor  children  actually 
4 


26  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

began  to  feel  not  only  pity,  but  some  resentment  at  what  had  been  done. 
They  were  terrified,  and  to  some  extent  miserable  at  the  sight  of  so 
much  power,  so  much  authority,  so  much  royalty  dishonored  and  laid 
low.  Brinkly  seemed  to  them  to  have  been  transformed.  He  was  a 
murderer  !  a  regicide  ! !  Talk  of  the  divine  right  of  kings  !  There 
was  never  more  reverence  felt  for  it  than  the  children  in  country  schools 
felt  for  the  kingly  dignity  of  the  schoolmaster  of  fifty  years  agone. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Allen  Thigpen  was  the  only  one  of  the  pupils  who  did  not  entirely 
lose  his  wits  while  the  events  of  the  last  few  minutes  were  taking  place. 
While  the  contest  was  even  between  the  combatants,  he  stood  gazing 
down  upon  them  with  the  most  intense  interest.  His  body  was  bent 
down  slightl)^,  and  his  arms  were  extended  in  a  semicircle,  as  if  to 
exclude  the  rest  of  the  world  from  a  scene  which  he  considered  all  his 
own.  When  Mr.  Meadows  called  for  quarter,  Allen  folded  his  arms 
across  his  breast,  and  to  a  tune  which  was  meant  for  '  Auld  Lang  Syne,' 
and  which  sounded  indeed  more  like  that  than  any  other,  he  sang  as 
he  turned  off, 

"  Jerusalem,  my  happy  home." 

When  Mr.  Meadows  had  taken  his  seat,  he  looked  at  him  for  a  moment 
or  two  as  if  hesitating  what  to  do.  He  then  walked  slowly  to  him  and 
delivered  the  following  oration  : 

"It's  come  to  it  at  last,  jest  as  I  said.  I  seen  it  from  the  fust ;  you 
ought  to  a  seen  it  yourself,  but  you  wouldn't,  ur  you  couldn't,  and  I  don't 
know  which,  and  it  makes  no  odds  which  you  didn't.  I  did,  and  now 
it's  come,  and  sich  a  beatin',  Jerusalem  !  But  don't  you  be  too  much 
took  aback  by  it.  You  warn't  goin'  to  keep  school  here  no  longern  to- 
day, nohow.  Now,  I  had  laid  off  in  my  mind  to  have  gin  you  a  duckin' 
this  very  day  ;  and  I'll  tell  you  for  why.  Not  as  I've  got  anything  par- 
ticklar  agin  you,  myself;  you  have  not  said  one  word  out  of  the  way  to 
me  this  whole  term.  But,  in  the  fust  place,  it's  not  my  opinion,  nor 
haint  been  for  some  time,  that  you  are  fitten  to  be  a  schoolmaster. 
Thar's  them  sums  in  intrust  —  intrust  is  the  very  thing  and  the  onliest 
thing  I  wanted  to  learn  —  I  say,  thar's  them  sums  in  intrust,  which  I 


THE   COOSEPOND   SCHOOL.  27 

can't  work  and  which  you  can't  show  me  how  to  work,  or  haint  yit, 
though  I've  been  cypherin'  in  it  now  two  months.  And  thar's  Mely 
Jones,  that's  in  the  same,  and  she  haint  learnt  'em  neither,  and  dinged 
if  I  believe  all  the  fault's  in  me  and  her,  and  in  course  it  can't  be  in 
the  book.  But  that  aint  the  main  thing ;  its  your  imposin'  disposition. 
If  this  here  schoolhouse,"  he  continued,  looking  around,  "  if  this  here 
schoolhouse  haint  seen  more  unmerciful  beatin'  than  any  other  school- 
house  in  this  countr}-,  then  I  say  it's  a  pity  that  thar's  any  sich  a  thing 
as  education.  And  if  the  way  things  has  been  car'd  on  in  this  here 
schoolhouse  sense  you've  been  in  it  is  the  onliest  way  of  getting  of  a 
education,  then  I  say  again  it's  a  pity  thar's  sich  a  thing.  It  haint  worth 
while  for  me  to  name  over  all  the  waj^s  you've  had  of  tormentin'  o'  these 
children.  You  know  'em  ;  I  know  'em  ;  everybody  about  this  here 
schoolhouse  knows  'em.  Now,  as  I  said  before,  I  had  laid  off  to  a  gin 
you  a  duckin'  this  very  day,  and  this  morning  I  was  going  to  let  Brinkly 
into  it,  tell  I  found  that  the  time  I  seen  was  a  comin'  in  him  was  done 
come  ;  and  I  knowed  he  wouldn't  jine  in  duckin'  you  on  account  of  his 
mother.  Now  I've  been  thinking  o'  this  for  more'n  two  weeks,  bekase  — 
now  listen  to  me;  didn't  you  say  you  was  from  South  Calliner.'"' 

Pausing  for,  but  not  receiving  an  answer,  he  continued  : 

"Yes,  that's  what  you  said.  Well  now,  I've  heern  a  man  —  a  travel- 
lin'  man  —  who  staid  all  night  at  our  house  on  his  way  to  Fluriday,  say 
he  knowed  you.  You  aint  from  South  Calliner ;  I  wish  you  was,  but 
you  aint ;  you're  from  Georgy,  and  I'm  ashamed  to  say  it.  He  ast  me, 
seein'  me  a  studyin',  who  I  went  to  school  to,  and  when  I  told  him," 
(Mr.  Meadows  appearing  to  be  listening)  'Meadows,'  says  he,  'what 
Meadov/s  ? '  '  Iserl,'  says  I.  '  Iserl  Meadows  a  schoolmaster  ? '  says  he, 
and  he  laughed,  he  did  ;  he  laughed  fit  to  kill  hisself.  Well,  he  told 
me  whar  you  was  raised,  and  wJio  you  ivas.  But  you  needn't  be  too 
bad  skeered.  I  aint  told  it  to  the  fust  human,  and  I  aint  going  to,  tell 
you  leave.  Now,  I  had  laid  off,  as  I  told  you,  to  gin  you  a  duckin', 
but  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  do  it,  and  you  in  the  fix  you  are  now  at  the 
present.  Nuff  sed,  as  I  seed  in  a  bar-room  in  Augusty  on  a  piece  of 
pasteboard,  under  the  words  '  No  credit,'  when  I  was  than  Wonder  if 
thar's  going  to  be  much  more  schoolin'  here  ? " 

Saying  which,  Allen  puckered  up  his  mouth  as  if  for  a  whistle,  and 
stalked  back  to  his  seat. 

Mr.  Meadows,  during  the  last  few  sentences  of  this  harangue,  had 
exhibited  evidences  of  a  new  emotion.     When  Allen  told  him  what  the 


2  8  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

traveller  had  said,  he  looked  up  with  a  countenance  full  of  terror,  and 
on  Allen  assuring  him  that  he  had  not  mentioned  it,  he  had  again 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  When  Allen  went  back  to  his  seat,  he 
rose,  and  beckoning  to  him  imploringly,  they  went  out  of  the  house 
together  a  few  steps  and  stopped. 

"  I  never  done  you  any  harm,"  said  Mr.  Meadows. 

"You  never  did,  certin,  shore,"  answered  Allen,  "nor  no  particklar 
good.     But  that's  neither  here  nor  thar ;  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Don't  tell  what  you  heard  tell  I  git  away." 

"  Didn't  I  say  I  wouldn't  ?  But  you  must  leave  toler'ble  soon.  I 
can't  keep  it  long.     I  fairly  eech  to  tell  it  now." 

The  schoolmaster  stood  a  moment,  turning  his  hat  in  his  hands,  as 
if  hesitating  what  sort  of  leave  to  take.  He  timidly  offered  Allen  his 
hand. 

"  I'd  ruther  not,"  said  Allen,  and  for  the  first  time  seemed  a  little  em- 
barrassed. Suddenly  the  man  hauled  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  walked 
away.  He  had  just  entered  the  path  in  the  thicket,  and  turning  unob- 
served, he  paused,  and  looked  back  at  the  schoolhouse.  And  oh,  the 
anger,  the  impotent  rage,  the  chagrin  and  shame  which  were  depicted 
on  his  bloodshot  face  !  No  exiled  monarch  ever  felt  more  grief  and 
misery  than  he  felt  at  that  moment.  He  paused  but  for  a  moment ; 
then  raising  both  his  hands,  and  shaking  them  towards  the  house, 
without  saying  a  word,  he  turned  again  and  almost  ran  along  the  path. 

After  he  had  gone,  and  not  until  he  had  gotten  out  of  sight,  Allen, 
to  whom  all  eyes  were  turned  (except  Brinkly's,  who  yet  sat  with  his 
head  hidden  in  his  hands  on  the  bench),  took  Mr.  Meadows'  chair,  and 
crossing  his  legs,  said  : 

"Well,  boys  and  gals,  the  Goosepond,  it  seem,  are  a  broke-up  school. 
The  schoolmaster  have,  so  to  speak,  absquatulated.  Thar's  to  be  no 
more  horsin'  here,  and  the  circus  are  clean  shot  up.  And  the  only 
thing  I  hates  about  it  is,  that  it's  Brinkly  that's  done  it  and  not  me. 
But  he  wouldn't  give  me  a  chance.  No,"  he  continued,  sorrowfully  and 
as  if  speaking  to  himself,  "  he  wouldn't  give  me  a  chance.  Nary  single 
word  could  I  ever  git  him  to  say  to  me  out  of  the  way.  I  have  misted 
lessons  ;  'deed  I  never  said  none.  I  never  kept  nary  single  rule  in  his 
school,  and  he  wouldn't  say  nothin'  to  me." 

Then  rising  and  going  to  Brinkly,  he  put  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  No,  its  jest  as  it  ought  to  a  bin  ;  you  was  the  one  to  do  it ;  and  in 
the  name  of  all  that's  jest,  Brinkly  Glisson,  what  is  you  been  cryin' 


THE  GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  29 

about  ?  Git  up,  boy,  and  go  and  wash  your  face.  I  would  rather  have 
done  what  you've  done  than  to  a  bin  the  man  that  fooled  the  tory  in 
the  Revolutionary  War,  and  stoled  his  horse  in  the  Life  of  Marion. 
Come  along  and  wash  that  face  and  hands." 

And  he  almost  dragged  Brinkly  to  the  pail,  and  poured  water  while 
he  washed. 

The  children,  recovering  from  the  consternation  into  which  they 
had  been  thrown  by  the  combat  and  its  result,  now  began  to  walk  about 
the  house,  picking  up  their  books  and  laying  them  down  again.  They 
would  go  to  the  door  and  look  out  towards  Mr.  Meadows'  path,  as  if 
expecting,  and,  indeed,  half-way  hoping,  half-way  fearing  that  he  would 
return ;  and  then  they  would  stand  around  Allen  and  Brinkly,  as  the 
latter  was  washing  and  drying  himself  But  they  spoke  not  a  word. 
Suddenly,  Allen,  mimicking  the  tone  of  Mr.  Meadows,  cried  out : 

"  Asa  Boatright  and  Sam  Pate,  go  to  horsin' !  " 

In  a  moment  they  all  burst  into  shouts  of  laughter.  Asa  mounted 
upon  Sam's  back,  and  Sam  pranced  about  and  neighed,  oh,  so  gaily. 
Allen  got  a  switch  and  made  as  if  he  would  strike  Asa,  and  that  young 
gentleman,  for  the  first  time  in  the  performance  of  this  interesting  exer- 
cise, screamed  with  delight  instead  of  pain. 

"  Let  Asa  be  the  schoolmaster,"  shouted  Allen.  "  Good  morning, 
Mr.  Boatright,"  said  he  with  mock  humility.  "Mr.  Boatright,  may  I 
go  out  ?  "  asked  timidly,  half  a  dozen  boys. 

Asa  dismounted,  and  seizing  a  hickory,  he  stood  up  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  and  the  others  formed  the  circus  around  him.  Here  they 
came  and  went,  jumping  over  his  switch,  and  crying  out  and  stooping 
to  rub  their  legs,  and  begging  him  to  stop,  "  for  God's  sake,  Mr.  Boat- 
right,  stop." 

Suddenly  an  idea  struck  IMr.  Boatright.  Disbanding  the  circus,  he 
cried  out : 

"  You,  Is'rl  Meadows,  come  up  here,  sir.  Been  a  fighten,  have  you, 
sir  ?  come  up,  sir.     Oh,  here  you  are." 

Mr.  Boatright  fell  upon  the  teacher's  chair,  and  of  all  the  floggings 
v;hich  a  harmless  piece  of  furniture  ever  did  receive,  that  unlucky  chair 
did  then  and  there  receive  the  worst.  Mr.  Boatright  called  it  names ; 
he  dragged  it  over  the  floor ;  lie  threatened  to  burn  it  up  \  he  shook  it 
violently  ;  he  knocked  it  against  the  wall;  one  of  its  rounds  falling  out, 
he  beat  it  most  unmercifully  with  that ;  and  at  last,  exhausted  by  the 
exercise  and  satisfied  v.  ith  his  revenge,  he  indignantly  kicked  it  out  of 
doors,  amid  tl  e  screams  and  shouts  of  his  schoolfellows. 


30  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


"  Far  you  well !  "  said  Allen,  solemnly,  to  the  fallen  chair. 

They  had  all  gathered  up  their  books  and  slates,  and  hats  and 
bonnets,  and  started  off  for  their  several  homes.  Those  who  went  the 
same  way  with  Brinkly,  listened  with  the  most  respectful  attention  as 
he  talked  with  Allen  on  the  way,  and  showed  how  bitterly  he  had 
suffered  from  the  cruelty  of  Mr.  Meadows.  They  had  already  lost 
their  resentment  at  the  dishonor  of  that  monarch's  royalty,  and  were 
evidently  regarding  Brinkly  with  the  devotion  with  which  mankind 
always  regard  rebels  who  are  successful.  Each  one  strove  to  get  the 
nearest  him  as  he  walked.  One  little  fellow, _^after  trying  several  times 
to  slip  in  by  his  side,  got  ahead,  and  walked  backwards  as  he  looked 
at  Brinkly  and  listened.  He  was  so  far  gone  under  the  old  regime 
that  he  felt  no  relief  from  what  had  happened.  He  had  evidently  not 
understood  anything  at  all  about  it.  He  seemed  to  be' trying  to  do  so, 
and  to  make  out  for  certain  whether  that  was  Brinkly  or  not.  The 
voice  of  those  young  republicans,  had  Brinkly  been  ambitious,  would 
have  made  him  dictator  of  the  Goosepond.  Even  Allen  felt  a  con- 
sideration for  Brinkly  which  was  altogether  new.  He  had  always  ex- 
pected that  Brinkly  would  at  some  day  resist  the  master,  but  he  did 
not  dream  of  the  chivalrous  spirit  of  the  lad,  nor  that  the  resistance 
when  it  should  come  would  be  so  terrible  and  disastrous.  He  had 
always  regarded  Brinkly  as  his  inferior;  he  was  no\v~quite  satisfied  to 
consider  him  as  no  more  than  his  equal.  How  we  all,  brave  men  and 
cowards,  do  honor  the  brave!  'And  Brinkly  had  just  given,  in  the 
opinion  of  his  schoolfellows,  the  most  brilliant  illustration  of  courage 
which  the  world  had  ever  seen.  / 

But  Brinkly  was  not  ambitious  nor  vain ;  he  felt  no  triumph  in  his 
victory.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  sad  ;/  he  wished  it  could  have  been 
avoided.  He  said  to  Allen  that  he  wished  he  could  have  stood  it  a 
little  longer. 

"  Name  o'  God,  Brinkly  Glisson,  what  for  ?  It  is  the  astonishenist 
thing  I  ever  heerd  of,  for  you  to  be  sorry  for  maulin'  a  rascal  who  beat 
you  like  a  dog,  and  that  for  nothin'.     What  for,  I  say  again  ?  " 

"  On  mother's  account." 

Allen  stopped  —  they  had  gotten  to  the  road  that  turned  off  to  his 
home. 


THE   GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  31 

"  You  tell  your  mother  that  when  she  knows  as  much  about  the 
villian  as  I  do,  she  will  be  proud  of  you  for  maulin'  him.  Look  here, 
Briiikl}',  I  promised  him  I  wouldn't  tell  on  him  tell  he  had  collected 
his  schoolin'  account  and  was  off.  But  you  tell  your  mother  that  if  she 
gets  hurt  with  you  for  thrashin'  him,  she  will  get  worse  hurt  with  her- 
self when  she  knows  what  I  do." 

.  Saying  this,  Allen  shook  hands  with  him  and  the  others,  and  went 
off,  merrily  singing  'Jerusalem,  my  happy  home.'  Soon  all  the  rest 
had  diverged  by  byroads  to  their  own  homes,  and  Brinkly  pursued  his 
way  alone. 

It  was  about  twelve  o'clock  when  he  reached  home.  The  widow's 
house  was  a  single  log-tenement,  with  a  small  shed-room  behind.  A 
kitchen,  a  meat-house,  a  dairy,  a  crib  with  two  stalls  in  the  rear^one 
for  the  horse  the  other  for  the  cow,  were  the  out-buildings.  Homely 
and  poor  as  tliis  little  homestead  was,  it  wore  an  air  of  much  neatness 
and  comfort.  The  yard  looked  clean  ;  the  floors  of  both  mansion  and 
kitchen  were  clean,  and  the  little  dairy  looked  as  if  it  knew  it  was 
clean,  but  that  was  nothing  new  or  strange.  Several  large  rose-bushes 
•stood  on  either  side  of  the  little  gate,  ranged  along  the  yard-paling. 
Two  rows  of  pinks  and  narcissus  hedged  the  walk  from  the  gate  to  the 
door,  where,  on  blocks  of  oak,  rested  two  boxes  of  the  geranium. 

The  widow  was  in  the  act  of  sitting  down  to  her  dinner,  when  hear- 
ing the  gate  open  and  shut,  she  advanced  to  the  door  to  see  who  might 
be  there.     Slowly  and  sadly  Brinkly  advanced  to  the  door. 

"  Lord  have  mercy  upon  my  soul  and  body,  Brinkly,  what  is  the 
matter  with  you.^  and  what  have  you  been  a  doing,  and  what  made  you 
conie  from  the  schoolhouse  this  time  o'  day  .'' "  was  the  greeting  he 
met. 

"  Don't  be  scared,  mother  ;  it  isn't  much  that's  the  matter  with  me. 
Let  us  sit  down  by  the  fire  here,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

They  sat  down,  and  the  mother  looked  upon  the  son,  and  the  son 
upon  the  mother. 

"  I  was  afraid  it  would  come  to  it,  mother.  God  knows  how  I  have 
tried  to  keep  from  doing  what  I  have  had  to  do  at  last." 

"Brinkly,  have  you  been  and  gone  and  fought  with  Mr.  Meadows?" 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  And  so  ruined  yourself,  and  me,  too." 

"  I  hope  not,  mother." 

"  Yes,  here  have  I  worked  and  denied  myself;  day  and  night  I  have 


32  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

pinched  to  give  you  an  education,  and  this  is  the  way  you  pay  me  for 
it,"  and  she  fell  straightlo  crying.  / 

"Mother,  do  listen  to  me  before  you  cry  and  fret  any  more,  and  I 
believe  you  will  think  I  have  not  done  wrong.  Please,  mother,  listen 
to  me,"  he  entreated  as  she  continued  to  weep,  and  rocked  herself,  in 
order,  as  it  seemed,  to  give  encouragement  and  keep  time  to  her  weep- 
ing. But  she  wept  and  rocked.  Brinkly  turned  from  her  and  seemed, 
doggedly  hopeless. 

"  Say  on  what  you're  going  to  say  —  say  on  what  you're  going  to  say. 
If  you've  got  anything  to  sa}',  say  it." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  anything  while  you  keep  crying  so.  Please  don't 
cry,  mother  ;  I  don't  believe  you  will  blame  me  when  I  tell  you  what  I 
have  been  through."  His  manner  was  so  humble  and  beseeching  that 
his  mother  sat  still,  and  in  a  less  fretful  tone,  again  bade  him  go  on. 

"  Mother,  as  I  said  before,  God  knows  that  I've  tried  to  keep  from 
it,  and  could  not.  You  don't  know,  mother,  how  that  man  has  treated 
me." 

"  How  has  he  treated  you  ? "  she  inquired,  looking  at  her  son  for  the 
first  time  since  she  had  been  sitting. 

"  You  were  so  anxious  for  me  to  learn,  and  I  v/as  so  anxious  myself 
to  learn,  that  I  have  never  told  you  of  hardly  any  of  his  treatment. 
Oh,  mother,  he  has  beat  me  worse  than  anybody  ought  to  beat  the 
meanest  dog.  He  has  called  me  and  you  poor,  and  m.ade  fun  of  us 
because  we  were  poor.  He  has  called  me  a  scoundrel,  a  beggar,  a 
fool.  When  I  told  him  that  you  wanted  me  to  quit  geography,  he  said 
you  was  a  fool  and  had  a  fool  for  a  son,  and  that  heliad  no  doubt  that 
my  father  was  a  fool  before  me." 

The  widow  dried  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  settled  herself  in 
her  chair,  and  said  : 

"When  he  said  them  things  he  told  a  —  what's  not  so;  I'll  say  it  it 
he  is  schoolmaster."  And  she  looked  as  if  she  was  aware  that  the 
responsibility  of  that  bold  observation  was  large. 

_  "  He  said,"  continued  Brinkly,  "  that  I  should  study  it,  and  if  I  didn't 
git  the  lessons,  he'd  beat  me  as  long  as  he  could  find  a  hickory  to  beat 
me  with.  I  stood  it  all  because  it  was  my  only  chance  to  git  any 
schoolin'.  But  I  told  him  then — that  is  when  he  called  you  a  fool, 
and  father  one,  too  —  that  it  wasn't  so,  and  that  he  ought  not  to  say 
so.  Well,  yesterday,  you  know  you  sent  me  by  Mr.  Norris'  to  pay  back 
the  meal  we  borrowed,  and  I  didn't  get  to  the  schoolhouse  quite  in 


THE   GOOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  33 

time.  But  he  wasn't  more  than  a  hundred  yards  ahead  of  me,  and 
when  he  saw  me,  he  hurried  just  to  keep  me  from  being  in  time. 
When  I  told  him  how  you  had  sent  me  by  Mr.  Norris',  he  only  laughed 
and  called  me  a  liar,  and  then  —  look  at  my  shoulder,  mother." 

He  took  off  his  coat,  unbuttoned  his  skirt,  and  exposed  his  shoulder 
and  back,  blackened  with  hideous  bruises. 

"  Oh,  my  son,  my  poor  son,"  was  all  that  mother  could  say. 

She  had  not,  in  fact,  known  a  tenth  of  the  cruelties  and  insults  which 
Brinkly  had  borne.  He  had  frequently  importuned  her  to  let  him  quit 
the  school.  But  she  supposed  that  it  was  because  of  the  difficulties 
of  learning  his  lessons  which  got  for  him  an  occasional  punishment, 
and  such  as  was  incident  to  the  life  of  every  schoolboy,  bad  and  good, 
idle  and  industrious.  These  thoughts  combining  with  her  ardent  desire 
that  he  should  have  some  learning,  even  at  the  risk  of  receiving  some 
harsh  and  even  unjust  punishment,  made  her  persist  in  keeping  him 
there.  Seeing  her  anxiety,  and  to  avoid  making  her  unhappy,  Brinkly 
had  concealed  from  her  the  greater  part  of  the  wrongs  which  he  had 
suffered.  But  when  she  heard  how  he  had  been  abused,  and  saw  the 
stripes  and  bruises  upon  his  body,  her  mother's  heart  could  not  restrain 
itself,/and  she  wept  sorely. 

"  Well,  mother,  I  stood  this  too,  but  last  night  I  couldn't  sleep.  I 
thought  about  all  he  had  said  and  all  he  had  done  to  me,  and  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  quit  him  anyhow.  But  this  morning,  before  day,  I 
thought  for  your  sake  I  would  try  it  once  more.  So  I  got  up  and 
studied  my  lesson  here  and  all  the  way  to  the  schoolhouse ;  and  I  did 
know  it,  mother,  or  I  thought  I  did,  for  he  wouldn't  tell  me  how  to  pro- 
nounce the  words,  but  Allen  Thigpen  did,  and  I  pronounced  them  just 
like  Allen  told  me.  When  I  told  him  that,  he  called  me  a  liar,  and 
afterwards  I  begged  him  not  to  strike  me,  but  to  let  me  go  home.  But 
he  would  strike  me,  and  I  fought  him." 

"  And  you  done  right.  Oh,  my  son,  my  poor  Brinkly  !  Yes.  you  are 
poor,  the  poor  son  of  a  poor  widow  ;  but  I  am  proud  that  you,4iave  got 
the  heart;  to  fight  when  you  are  abused  and  insulted.  If  Id  known 
half  of  What  you  have  had  to  bear,  you  should  have  quit  his  school 
long  ago ;  you  should,  Brinkly,  my  darling,  that  you  should.  But  how 
could  you  expect  to  fight  him  and  not  be  beat  to  death  ?  Why  didn't 
you  run  away  from  him  and  come  to  me  ?  He  wouldn't  have  beat  you 
so  where  I  was."  And  she  looked  as  if  she  felt  herself  to  be  quite 
sufficient  for  the  protection  of  her  young. 
5 


34  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  Mother,  I  didn't  want  to  run ;  I  couldjiH  run  from  such  a  man  as  he 
is.  Once  I  thought  I  would  take  my  hat  and  books  and  come  away ; 
but  I  could  not  do  that  without  running,  and  I  couldn't  run ;  you  wouldn't 
want  me  to  run,  would  you,  mother?"     The  widow  looked  puzzled. 

"  No  ;  but  he  is  so  much  bigger  than  you,  that  it  wouldn't  a  looked 
exactly  like  you  was  a  coward ;  and  then  he  has  hurt  you  so  bad.  My 
poor  Brinkly,  you  don't  know  how  your  face  is  scratched." 

"  I  hurt  him  worse  than  he  hurt  me,  mother." 

"  What  ? " 

"  I  hurt  him  worse  than  he  hurt  me  ;  I  got  the  best  of  it." 

"  Glory  !  "  shouted  Mrs.  Glisson. 

"  In  fact,  I  whipped  him." 

«  Glory  !  glory  !  " 

"  When  I  had  him  down  —  " 

"  Brinkly,  did  you  have  him  down,  my  son?" 

"  Yes,  and  he  begged  me  to  spare  him." 

"  Glory  be  to  —  glory  be  to  —  but  you  did  not  do  it,  did  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  mother,  as  soon  as  he  give  up  and  begged  me  to  stop,  I  let 
him  alone." 

"  I  wouldn't  a  done  it,  certin,  shore  ! " 

"  Yes  you  would,  mother ;  if  you  had  seen  how  he  was  hurt,  and  how 
bad  he  looked,  you  would  a  spared  him,  I  know  you  would." 

"  Well,  maylje  I  might ;  I  suppose  it  was  right,  as  he  was  a  man 
grown,  and  schoolmaster  to  boot.  Maybe  it  was  best  —  maybe  it  was 
best  —  maybe  I  might  a  done  it  too,  but  it  aint  quite  certin." 

She  had  risen  from  the  chair  and  was  pacing  the  floor.  This  new 
view  of  Brinkly's  relation  to  his  tyrant  was  one  on  which  she  required 
time  for  reflection.  She  evidently  felt,  however,  that  as  Brinkly  had  so 
often  been  at  the  bottom  in  the  combat,  now  when  he  had  risen  to  the 
top,  there  was  no  great  harm  in  staying  there  a  little  longer.  "  But 
maybe  it  was  best ;  I  reckon  now  he  won't  be  quite  so  brash  with  his 
other  scholars." 

"  He  will  never  have  another  chance." 

"What?" 

"  Allen  has  found  out  all  about  him,  and  where  he  came  from,  and 
says  he's  a  man  of  bad  character.  He  begged  Allen  not  to  say  any- 
thing about  it  until  he  got  his  money  and  could  git  away.  So  he  is 
quit,  and  the  school  is  broke  up." 

"  Glory  !  glory  !  hallelujah!  "  shouted  again  and  sung  the  mother. 


THE  COOSEPOND  SCHOOL.  35 

Let  her  shout  and  sing.  Sing  away  and  shout,  thou  bereaved,  at 
this  one  little  triumph  of  thine  only  beloved  !  Infinite  Justice  !  pardon 
her  for  singing  and  shouting  now,  when  her  only  child,  though  poor 
and  an  orphan,  though  bruised  and  torn,  seems  to  her  overflowing  eyes 
to  be  grand  and  beautiful,  as  if  he  were  a  royal  hero's  son,  and  the  in- 
heritor of  his  crown. 


JUDGE  MIKES  COURT. 


"  And  then  the  Justice  : 
And  so  he  piays  his  part." 


CHAPTER    I. 

|NCE  upon  a  time,  in  this  glorious  country,  a  respectable  but 
uneducated  woman,  who  had  taken  to  her  home  an  orphan 
child  of  poor  parents,  had  brought  her  up  with  great  care  and  ten- 
derness, and,  though  reluctantly,  allowed  her  to  receive,  at  the  hands 
of  some  other  benevolent  persons,  a  year's  schooling,  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  lose  her  J>rotegce.  The  girl,  who  was  very  pretty,  being  offered 
a^home  in  a  family  where  she  thought  she  could  have  better  society 
and  more  enjoyments  than  were  to  be  had  in  the  house  of  her  first 
benefactress,  accepted  this  offer,  and  refused  to  return.  The  good 
lady,  in  her  distress  searching  eagerly  how  she  might  avoid  placing  too 
great  blame  upon  the  beloved  child  of  her  adoption,  attributed  her  loss 
to  education. 

"  It  was  edyecation,"  she  said  bitterly,  when  she  had  given  up  all 
efforts  to  recover  her  lost  treasure ;  "  it  was  edyecation  that  done  it  all. 
I  never  seed  a  more  biddable  child  than  she  was  before  she  went  off 
to  school.  You  may  tell  me  what  you  please  about  your  edyecation  : 
it's  my  opinion  that  the  more  edyecation  people  git,  the  meaner  they 
git." 

Woe  to  the  schools  and  colleges  henceforth  if  she  could  have  had 
her  way  with  them ! 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  37 

There  are,  and  for  a  long  time  there  have  been  many  persons  in  this 
good  State  of  Georgia  who  feel  like  this  good  woman  regarding  another 
great  instrument  of  its  civilisation.  We  all  remember  (at  least  those 
who  are  old  enough)  how  long  a  time  it  required  to  get  the  establish- 
ment of  a  Supreme  Court  for  the  Correction  of  Errors.  What  courts 
we  did  have  seemed  to  be  such  nuisances  that  men  were  generally- 
opposed  to  having  any  more.  At  length,  being  partially  convinced 
that  such  a  tribunal  might  serve  to  settle  at  least  some  points  of  law, 
and  thereby  lessen  some  useless  litigation,  it  was  established.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  the  great  good  that  has  been  accomplished  through  its 
instrumentality,  there  are  very  many  who  still  regard  it  as  only  another 
addition  to  the  various  means  of  vexing  citizens  with  law-suits ;  and  we 
yet  meet  with  those  who  are  fond  of  speaking  of  the  good  old  times 
when  courts  were  fewer,  and  men  did  not  have  to  carry  their  cases  out 
of  their  counties  after  they  had  been  once  settled  at  home. 

Well,  those  old  times  were  very  good  in  many  respects.  Beef  was 
cheap,  and  the  temptation  to  steal  it  was  small.  Men  did  not  very 
often  commit  malicious  mischief,  or  keep  open  tippling-houses  on  for- 
bidden days.  Land  was  not  high  ;  men  lived  more  widely  apart,  and 
almost  every  one  kept  his  own  whiskey  at  home.  Vagabonds  were 
less  numerous  than  now ;  mostly  because  the  credit  system  being  not 
greatly  developed,  they  were  wont  to  carry  upon  their  persons  the 
unmistakable  badges  of  their  profession.  It  is  pleasing  to  an  old  man 
like  me  to  recur  to  those  old  times.  Corn,  twenty  cents  a  bushel, 
except  to  wagoners,  who,  being  strangers,  and  considering  that  their 
silver  might  prove  to  be  pewter,  were  made  to  pay  a  quarter  of  a  dollar. 
Bacon,  no  price  at  all,  because  everybody  had  a  plenty,  and  because 
the  woods  were  full  of  game  and  the  creeks  were  full  of  fish.  Blessed 
be  the  memory  of  those  old  times  !  The  most  of  those  who  were  then 
my  companions  and  friends  are  gone,  and  I  am  left  almost  alone.  Yet, 
for  the  many  recollections  which  they  bring  to  me,  I  say  again,  Blessed 
be  the  memory  of  those  old  times ! 

But,  like  all  other  times,  those  old  ones  had  their  evils  and  their 
wants.  Men  and  systems  were  not  perfect,  even  then.  True,  they 
had  not  many  schools,  and  they  had  no  Supreme  Court.  Yet,  in  what 
schools  and  courts  they  had,  there  were  some  things  which,  v/hen 
men  thought  of  them  at  all,  they  thought  might  have  been  done  differ- 
ently or  left  undone.  I  think  that  we  have  improved  somewhat  in  the 
matter  of  a  few  of  the  institutions  of  the  old  times.     I  speak  thus  with 


38  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

what  I  hope  is  a  proper  respect  for  the  past.  I  admit  that  I  see  occa- 
sionally what  seem  to  be  derelictions  from  the  simple  habits  which 
prevailed  when  I  was  a  boy.  The  young  of  this  generation,  it  seems 
to  me,  are  not  so  respectful  to  the  old  as  they  used  to  be.  Discipline 
surely  has  lost  some  of  its  ancient  control.  To  take  my  own  case  for 
instance :  I  am  convinced  that  w^hen  I  was  young  I  treated  men  who 
were  as  old  as  I  am  now  with  more  consideration  than  that  which  I 
receive  from  the  young.  I  do  not  like  to  complain^  and  a  man  at  my 
time  of  life  should  beware  how  he  complains.  Still,  I  can  but  notice 
in  the  present  generation  a  want  of  that  reverence  which,  when  I  was 
a  boy,  the  young  felt  for  the  aged.  I  know  how  wont  old  persons  are 
to  find  fault  with  present  times,  and  therefore  I  try  to  endure  as  I  would 
like  to  be  endured.  And  while  I  may  mistake  myself  in  this  regard, 
nevertheless  I  do  believe  that  I  can  fairly  compare  with  one  another 
the  various  periods  in  which  I  have  lived.  My  opinion  upon  the  whole 
is,  that  while  in  some  respects  there  have  been  deteriorations  from  the 
habits  of  old  times,  there  have  been  improvements  in  others.  Now, 
as  for  the  schools  in  old  times,  bad  as  some  of  them  were,  they  had 
ways  of  righting  themselves.  The  things  done  in  them,  though  seri- 
ously inconvenient  at  the  time  of  their  doing,  were  seldom  very  serious 
in  their  consequences.  Boys  knew  them  to  be,  as  they  were,  institu- 
tions, and  so  learned  to  get  used  to  them.  Or,  if  a  schoolmaster  grew 
to  be  too  bad,  or  wouldn't  give  a  holiday  at  Whitsuntide,  he  got  his 
ducking,  and  things  went  on  better  for  a  while.  The  same  thing,  how- 
ever, could  not  be  said  of  the  courts  and  the  judges,  when,  as  was 
sometimes  the  case,  the  latter  were  neither  fully  educated  in  all  the 
learning  applicable  to  all  cases  arising  in  Law  and  Equity,  nor  wholly 
above  the  prejudices  and  other  infirmities  to  which  the  rest  of  mankind 
are  subject.  The  latter  generations  have  surely  made  advances  in  the 
matter  of  laws  and  courts  of  justice.  We  always  had  a  great  Judiciary 
system,  if  we  had  carried  it  to  the  point  designed  by  its  founders. 
But  we  were  left  with  irresponsible  judges,  and  some  of  them  were  — 
what  they  were. 

Let  us  look  back  a  little  into  those  old  times,  while  men  are  thinking 
about  them  and  giving  especial  praise  to  them,  and  reminding  one 
another  of  how  glorious  they  were.  I  observe  that  this  habit  prevails 
less  with  the  truly  old  than  with  the  middle-aged,  who  have  had  not 
enough  of  old  age  to  obtain  its  true  wisdom,  I  trust,  therefore,  it  will 
not  be  amiss  in  me,  who  have  lived  in  both  the  old  times  and  the  new, 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  39 

to  describe,  as  well  as  my  memory  will  serve,  a  character  or  two  and  a 
scene  or  two  that  figured  and  were  enacted  in  a  court  in  our  neighbor- 
hood, long,  long  ago.  And  as  I  have  used  many  introductory  words 
(and  those  possibly  somewhat  involved),  and  as  I  have  mentioned  one 
fact  (though  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  narrative  except  to  help  in 
pointing  its  moral),  and  as  I  am  a  little  tired,  I  will  stop  for  the  present 
where  I  am,  and  call  what  I  have  already  written,  a  chapter. 


CHAPTER   11. 

A  YOUNG  man,  a  native  of  Virginia,  and  a  graduate  of  one  of  the 
colleges  of  that  State,  had  come  to  Georgia  for  the  purpose  of  seeking 
a  home  and  practising  his  profession  of  the  law.  One  morning,  in  the 
beginning  of  spring,  in  company  with  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  newly  made,  he  rode  towards  the  village  near 
which  the  latter  lived,  for  the  purpose  of  being  introduced  to  some 
of  the  members  of  the  Bar  residing  there.  As  the  two  were  riding 
along,  after  some  conversation  upon  the  practice  of  law  and  other  pur- 
suits in  the  South,  the  younger  gentleman  asked  of  the  elder  if  there 
was  in  the  South  a  Court  of  Errors. 

"  I  do  not  remember  to  have  so  heard,  but  I  presume  that  you  have 
such  a  court." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  exclaimed  the  elder,  "  many  a  one.  We  have  no 
other  sort  ia  Georgia.  But  I  know  what  you  mean,  sir,"  he  added, 
seeing  the  j'oung  man's  surprise.  "  I  answered  your  question  literally, 
because  what  I  say  is  very  nearly  literally  true  ;  and  it  is  so,  doubtless, 
because  we  have  no  court  for  the  correction  of  errors  which  our  other 
courts  continually  commit.  I  know  little  of  the  law  myself,  although 
I  once  studied  it  and  was  admitted  to  the  Bar.  I  never  practised,  and 
yet  I  have  seen  enough  to  know  that,  with  our  present  Judiciary 
system,  the  law  can  never  become  a  science  settled  upon  any  ascer- 
tained principles." 

"  There  can  be  very  little  donbt  as  to  that." 

"  We  have  no  lack  of  lawyers  of  real  ability ;  but  I  doubt  if  there 
is  in  the  South  another  State  so  deficient  in  its  courts  as  ours.  We 
have,  as  I  said,  many  able  lawyers,  but  seldom  an  able  judge.  The 
salary  is  so  small  that  a  lawyer  of  first-rate  ability,  unless  he  be  a  man 


40  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES, 

of  property  ("  and  such  men,"  he  added,  in  parenthesis,  with  a  slight 
touch  of  dignity  which  did  not  escape  the  other,  "  rarely  enter  the  pro- 
fessions "),  will  not  go  upon  the  Bench.  It  is,  therefore,  generally  oc- 
cupied by  men  of  inferior  learning  and  ability ;  and  as  we  have  no 
Supreme  Court,  and  every  judge  is  independent  in  his  circuit,  there  is, 
of  course,  no  uniformity  in  their  decisions,  but  many  an  error,  you  may 
be  sure.  I  reside  here  near  the  boundaries  of  two  circuits.  I  and 
my  neighbors  of  two  adjoining  counties  live  under  two  different  sj's- 
tems  of  laws.  I  am  tolerably  well  acquainted  with  that  of  my  own 
circuit ;  but  I  dare  not  move  out  of  it,  as  I  have  known  others  to  do 
to  their  sorrow.  Even  here,  whenever  a  new  judge  is  elected  we  shall 
have  a  new  system  to  learn ;  for,  like  every  schoolmaster  who  begins 
by  throwing  out  of  the  schoolroom  all  the  te.\t-books  which  his  prede- 
cessor employed,  he  will  fear  that  he  will  be  considered  nobody  unless 
he  overrules  much  of  what  our  present  judge  has  decided." 

"  Does  not  your  constitution  provide  for  a  Supreme  Court  ?  " 

"  It  does  ;  but,  bless  you,  sir,  the  people  are  almost  unanimously 
opposed  to  its  establishment.  They  say  that  they  are  already  too 
much  worried  by  courts  to  think  of  making  any  more  of  them.  The 
lawyers  too,  the  most  of  them,  are  equally  opposed  to  it,  because  they 
know  —  hang  them  !  and  who  should  know  so  well  as  they  ? —  that  it 
would  lessen  litigation  by  lessening  what  is  to  them  the  glorious  un- 
certainty of  the  law.  A  man  who  would  get  an  office  here  must  not 
open  his  mouth  in  favor  of  a  Supreme  Court.  He  might  as  well  avow 
himself  a  disciple  of  Alexander  Hamilton,  or  a  friend  of  the  adminis- 
tration of  John  Adams." 

They  had  just  reached  the  public  square,  and  alighted,  when  Mr. 
Parkinson  pointed  to  a  little  office  on  the  corner  of  it,  into  which  two 
men  were  entering. 

"  There  go  two  limbs  of  the  law  now.  We  will  go  in  at  once,"  and 
leading  the  way,  he  walked  in  and  introduced  the  young  man,  Mr. 
Overton,  to  Mr.  Sandidge  and  Mr.  Mobley. 

Mr.  Sandidge  ("  Elam  Sandidge,  Attorn ey-at-Law,"  Overton  had 
read  upon  a  shingle  as  he  entered)  was  about  fifty  years  old,  tall,  with 
very  long  legs,  which  seemed  as  if  they  were  ashamed  of  his  rather 
short  body,  from  the  fact  that  they  would  never  hold  it  straight  up. 
He  had  long  arms,  long  hands,  and  long  fingers,  which  last  never 
looked  clean.  He  wore  shabby  clothes  too,  which,  if  they  had  been 
ever  so  fine,  would  yet  have  looked  shabby  from  a  habit  he  had  of  chew- 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  41 

ing  tobacco  all  the  time  when  he  was  not  eating  or  asleep,  and  spitting 
on  himself.  Yet,  for  all  these  drawbacks,  Mr.  Sandidge  had,  as  it 
seemed,  an  ambition  to  appear  perfectly  and  universally  agreeable. 
His  countenance,  when  he  looked  at  another,  was  invariably  clothed  in 
smiles.  He  never  laughed ;  he  only  smiled.  While  nature  had  given 
him  x\6  very  acute  sense  of  the  humorous,  and  while,  therefore,  he 
never  felt  like  laughing,  he  had,  apparently  from  a  sense  of  duty, 
learned  to  smile,  and  he  smiled  at  everything.  If  one  said  '  Good 
morning '  to  him,  he  v.'as  sure  to  smile  as  he  returned  the  salutation. 
If  one,  in  answer  to  an  inquify  concerning  his  health,  complained  of  a 
headache,  he  smiled  the  most  cordial  sympathy.  There  was  no  con- 
siderable amount  of  cheer  conveyed  by  his  smiles  —  no  more  than 
there  was  by  his  shabby  coat  and  hands ;  but  like  these,  they  were  a 
part  of  him,  and  one  got  used  to  them.  VBut  if  any  one  said  anything 
funny  where  he  and  others  were  standing,  and  no  person  smiled  except 
the  invariable  Sandidge,  he  felt  that  the  joke  had  been  a  failure. 

When  Mr.  Parkinson  introduced  Mr.  Overton,  Mr.  Sandidge  arose 
and  extended  his  hand  with  a  smile,  which  seemed  to  say:  "Ah  !  you 
young  dog  !     You  have  come  at  last  ?     I  knew  you  would." 

Mr.  Mobley  was  a  stout,  fine-looking  man,  about  twenty-three  years 
of  age,  of  the  middle  height,  with  dark  complexion,  very  black  hair 
and  whiskers,  and  a  fine  mouth,  full  of  large  sound  teeth  of  perfect 
whiteness.  There  were  an  ease  and  grace  in  his  manner,  and  an  ex- 
pression upon  his  face,  vi'hich  marked  him  at  once  to  Mr.  Overton  as 
a  man  of  talent  and  education.  Immediately  after  the  introduction 
Mr.  Sandidge  looked  at  the  new-comers  and  then  at  Mr.  Mobley  v/ith 
a  smile,  which  the  latter  interpreted  at  once  ;  and  after  an  exchange  of 
a  few  words  of  •civility,  he  rose  to  go. 

"No,  do  not  leave,  Mr.  Mobley,"  Mr.  Parkinson  said.  "We  have 
no  especial  business  with  Mr.  Sandidge,  but  came  to  see  you  both. 
So  please  to  remain,  unless  you  have  business  which  calls  you  away." 

Mr.  Sandidge  smiled  upon  Mr.  Mobley  as  he  resumed  his  seat ;  and, 
but  that  we  knew  that  he  v/as  bound  to  smile  at  all  events,  we  should 
have  suspected  that  he  was  infinitely  amused  by  the  idea  that  Mr. 
Mobley  should  have  had  any  business  of  such  pressing  importance  as 
to  require  him  to  go  to  it  in.  a  hurry.  He  then  turned  to  Mr,  Parkin- 
son and  smiled  inquiringly ;  for  this  was  the  first  time  that  tha't  gentle- 
man had  ever  called  on  him,  except  upon  business. 

"  Mr.  Overton  has  removed  to  Georgia  with  a  view  of  establishing 


42  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

himself  somewhere  in  the  State  in  the  practice  of  the  law,  and  I  have 
brought  him  here  to  make  him  acquainted  with  you  both,  knowing  that 
he  could  obtain  from  you  more  of  such  information  as  he  needs  than 
he  could  from  myself;  besides,"  he  added,  looking  at  Mr.  Mobley,  "  I 
desired  to  give  him  an  opportunity  of  extending  his  acquaintance  among 
those  with  whom  he  might  spend  pleasantly  such  of  his  leisure  as  he 
will  have  when  he  is  wearied  with  the  dullness  of  Chestnut  Grove." 

Mr.  Mobley  bowed  ;  Mr.  Parkinson  rose,  and  saying  that  he  would 
return  in  an  hour,  left  the  office,  Mr.  Sandidge  smiling  at  him  all  the 
while,  even  at  his  back  as  he  went  out.  *A  conversation  was  begun  at 
once  between  the  young  men,  with  an  occasional  but  rare  contribution 
from  Mr.  Sandidge.  The  latter  was  no  great  talker  in  a  social  way. 
It  was  a  wonderful  thing  to  him  how  many  things  people  could  find  to 
say  to  one  another  on  matters  of  no  business  whatever,  but  only  in  the 
way  of  civility.  He  could  talk  forever  on  business,  and  in  the  Court- 
house often  made  speeches  of  two  hours'  length.  He  understood  such 
things  mighty  well  ;  but  it  puzzled  him  to  see  two  persons  sitting  down 
together  and  talking  at  random  and  with  interest  on  miscellaneous 
subjects,  sporting  from  one  to  another  with  perfect  ease,  having  no 
apparent  motive  except  a  desire  in  each  to  entertain  the  other.  There 
was  Mobley  now,  he  would  think,  a  young  man  who  in  the  Court-house 
was  as  skittish  as  a  girl,  whose  practice,  though  he  had  fine  education 
and  ability,  after  a  year's  pursuit  of  it,  was  barely  supporting  him,  and 
yet,  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  that  dread  place,  and  in  the  society  of 
the  most  intelligent  and  able  of  the  profession,  would  bear  his  part  in 
the  discussion  of  general  subjects,  and  even  of  legal  questions,  with  an 
ease  and  a  fiuency  which  made  him  the  most  interesting  of  them  all, 
and  the  object  of  the  especial  envy  of  Mr.  Sandidfe.  Being  no 
philosopher,  Mr.  Sandidge  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him,  understand 
how  these  things  could  be  ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  to  be  not  only  strange, 
but  wrong  that  Mr,  Mobley,  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  run  over  in 
the  Court-house,  should  not  only  seem  to  be,  but  should  actually  be 
above  him  everywhere  else.  Yet  such  things  have  been  before  and 
since,  and  are  to  be  hereafter,  and  have  excited  the  surprise  of  others 
besides  Mr.  Sandidge.  How  many  young  men  of  excellent  talents  and 
the  most  finished  education  have  for  a  year  or  two  striven  in  vain  to 
begin  successfully  careers  at  the  Bar,  and  have  at  length  shrunk  from 
the  pursuit,  and  left  its  honors  and  emoluments  to  be  gathered  by  the 
Sandidges  —  the  Sandidges  whom  men  laughed  at  when  they  saw  them 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  43 

enter  the  profession,  and  whom  they  continued  to  laugh  at  for  half  a 
dozen  years,  and  after  half  a  dozen  more  years  have  carried  them  all 
their  cases,  and  have  at  last  lived  to  see  them  rich  and  prosperous. 
Mr.  Sandidge  would  not  have  thought  of  exchanging  places  with  Mr. 
Mobley,  or  the  fine  young  fellow  who  had  been  just  now  introduced  to 
him  ;  but  the  more  they  ran  on  with  each  other  about  law,  literature, 
and  what  not,  the  more  he  wondered  at  and  envied  what  he  thought 
was  their  only  gift.  But  he  smiled  whenever  anything  was  said  to  him, 
and  when  he  was  expected  to  say,  and  did  say  anything  to  them.  When 
Mr.  Overton  inquired  if  there  was  much  litigation  in  that  circuit,  and  if 
money  was  to  be  made  by  the  practice,  Mr.  Mobley  slightly  blushed, 
looked  at  Mr.  Sandidge,  and  answered  that  there  was  not  a  great 
amount  of  litigation  then  originating,  and  that  Mr.  Sandidge  knew 
more  as  to  what  was  to  be  made  by  the  practice  than  himself.  Re- 
gaining instantly  his  ease  of  manner,  he  laughed  good-naturedly  at 
himself,  who  had  managed,  he  said,  "  thus  far  to  make  money  to  pay 
my  board  and  store  accounts,  and  not,  I  think,  anything  over.  I  do 
not,  however,  despair  to  do  better  after  a  while,"  he  added,  looking 
composedly  upon  Mr.  Sandidge. 

Mr.  Sandidge  being  thus  appealed  to,  and  looking  as  if  he  felt  that 
that  was  a  subject  of  which  he  ought  to  know  something,  answered 
that  there  were  some  few  lawyers  in  the  circuit  who  were  making  a 
living.  Law  was  a  mighty  hard  thing  to  make  a  living  at.  He  had 
been  trying  it  twenty-five  years  and  better,  and  ought  to  know  how  hard 
it  was.  There  was  no  business  that  it  was  not  easier  to  make  money 
at  than  law.  If  he  had  his  time  to  go  over  again,  he  hardly  thought 
he  would  undertake  it.  Indeed,  he  knew  he  would  not  if  he  knew 
what  a  young  man  had  to  go  through  with  the  first  five  or  six  years. 
Now,  Mr.  Sandidge  had  commenced  the  practice  of  the  law  without 
a  dollar,  and  with  not  even  a  good  suit  of  clothes.  But  he  econo- 
mised. He  borrowed  money  at  eight  per  cent.,  and  shaved  paper 
at  sixteen  and  twenty.  He  went  to  every  Justices'  Court  in  the  county  ; 
learned  the  name  of  every  man  in  it,  got  acquainted  with  every  man's 
business,  hunted  up  and  set  agoing  litigation,  until  here  he  was  in 
the  possession  of  at  least  forty  thousand  dollars.  And  though  many  a 
man  would  have  shrunk  from  what  Mr.  Sandidge  had  to  go  through 
with,  yet  Mr.  Sandidge  told  a  story  when  he  said  what  he  did.  He 
would  have  gone  through  with  it  a  thousand  times  over.  He  was 
proud  of  what  he  had  gone  through.     Like  most  self-made  men,  he 


44  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

was  fond  of  exaggerating  his  early  difficulties.  Then,  next  to  the 
money  which  he  had  made  by  the  law,  he  loved  the  spyings  which  it 
gave  opportunities  to  make  into  the  secrets  of  his  neighbors,  their 
silent  struggles  with  sufferings  and  embarrassments,  and  he  loved  yet 
more  the  influence  which  the  knowledge  thus  acquired  enabled  him  to 
exert  over  them.  But  it  was  not  his  wont  to  encourage  young  lawyers. 
Nobody  encouraged  him,  he  reflected,  and  let  them  encourage  them- 
selves. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  law  is  a  hard  thing  to  get  on  with.  There's  a 
power  of  books  to  read,  which  requires  a  power  of  money  to  buy  ;  and 
there  are  so  many  contrary  decisions  on  the  same  p'ints,  and  the  prac- 
tice and  the  pleadings  are  so  hard  to  learn,  and  then  a  man,  a  young 
man,  has  so  often  got  to  speak  before  the  court,  where  everybody  is 
watching  him,  and  when  he  don't  knov/  sometimes  what  to  say  when 
a  pint  is  made  he  didn't  expect  and  aint  prepared  to  meet,  and  he 
gets  embarrassed,  and  sometimes  even  has  to  give  up  the  case  and  be 
non-suited.  These  things,  as  I  said,  and  a  heap  of  others  I  might 
mention,  makes  law  a  hard  business  to  follow.  But  some  men  do,  by 
hard  labor,  make  a  living  by  it,  by  being  economical.  They  say  in 
Augusta  and  in  Savannah  it  is  easier  to  get  along  with  it,  and  that 
some  men  even  make  fortunes.  There  is  more  litigation  there,  and  not 
so  much  competition.  But,"  he  ended,  smiling  quite  encouragingly, 
"it  may  be  worth  while  to  try  it  even  here.  The  profession  is  pretty 
well  stocked  to  be  sure,  but  the  more  the  merrier,  you  know ; "  and  he 
smiled  almost  audibly,  and  with  such  satisfaction  at  this  attempt  at 
pleasantry,  that  Mr.  Mobley  laughed  at  it  heartily,  and  said: 

"  And,  Sandidge,  you  know  it  is  some  consolation  to*  a  fellow  who  is 
getting  along  slowly  to  know  that  there  are  others  who  are  at  no  faster 
pace  than  himself;  for  apropos  to  your  proverb  is  the  one  that  misery 
loves  company." 

"  Just  so,"  answered  Mr.  Sandidge  ;  and  at  this  moment  Mr.  Parkin- 
son returned,  and  the  two  took  their  leave. 

When  they  were  on  their  way  home,  Mr.  Parkinson  asked  Overton 
hov/  he  liked  the  specimens,  as  he  termed  his  new  acquaintances.  The 
latter  answered  that  he  was  much  pleased  with  the  young  man. 

"  And  you  are  not  very  much  pleased  with  Sandidge,  I  suppose  ? " 

"Why,  no,  I  cannot  say  that  I  am  greatly  prepossessed  in  his  favor; 
and  I  fancy  he  returns  the  compliment,  as  he  discourages  my  notion  to 
practise  law." 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  45 

"  He  does,  does  he  ? "  said  Mr.  Parkinson,  laughing.  "  I  knew  he 
would  ;  and  though  I  am  much  of  his  opinion  in  regard  to  any  young 
man  who  can  do  anything  else,  yet  I  must  say  that  his  example  is  en- 
couraging. He  very  well  illustrates  how  a  man  of  little  talent  and  less 
education  can  grow  rich,  and  even  attain  to  some  eminence  at  the  Bar. 
Sandidge  is  certainly  a  queer  genius.  Twenty-five  years  ago  everybody 
laughed  at  him  —  the  judge,  the  lawyers,  the  juries,  and  the  people. 
But  Sandidge  laughed  too  in  his  waj',  and  worked  every  day  and  night  ; 
and  somehow  he  got  into  practice.  The  judge  and  lawyers  came  at 
last  to  respect  him,  the  sheriffs  to  fear  him,  and  the  people  to  be  in  awe 
of  him  ;  until  now  he  has  made  a  fortune,  has  more  influence  with  the 
present  judge  and  is  more  successful  before  juries  than  any  lawyer  in 
the  circuit.  I  knev/  he  would  attempt  to  discourage  you  ;  he  always 
does.  I  doubt  if  it  is  because  he  has  no  feeling,  but  because  it  grati- 
fies his  vanity  to  exaggerate  those  obstacles  which  he  had  to  overcome, 
and  which  nobody  thought  he  v/ould.  And  Sandidge,  though  he  looks 
like  a  fool,  is  really  a  pretty  good  lawyer.  There  are  men  infinitely 
his  superiors,  bat  he  is  untiringly  industrious.  He  prepares  his  cases 
so  thoroughly,  and  hangs  to  them  so  doggedly,  and  studies  the  people 
so  constantly,  that  he  is,  I  repeat  it,  the  most  successful  practitioner  I 
know.  Hs  loves  the  law ;  he  glories  in  it,  and  knows  nothing  outside 
of  it." 

"  But  Mr.  Mobley  ;  he  is  certainly  a  man  of  real  talent  and  education. 
Is  he  not  likely  to  succeed.'"' 

"jMobley  Ivis  very  superior  talent  and  a  most  finished  education. 
He  was  educated  by  an  uncle  who  died  in  the  first  year  of  his  collegiate 
life,  leaving  in  the  hands  of  his  executors  money  to  enable  him  to  com- 
plete his  course  and  enter  his  profession.  His  parents  both  died  when 
he  was  a  child.  But  Mobley  shines  everywhere  except  in  the  court- 
room. There  he  does  not  yet  seem  to  be  quite  at  home.  I  have  heard 
him  speak  once  or  twice,  and  he  certainly  speaks  v/ell.  But  Sandidge 
worries  him  so  v;ith  the  starting  of  unexpected  issues  that  he  is  often 
put  to  his  wits'  end.  If  he  could  live  without  the  practice,  J  am 
inclined  to  think  that,  notwithstanding  his  pride,  he  would  abandon  it. 
He  will  succeed  though  after  a  while,  I  doubt  not,  if  he  will  persevere. 
He  is  a  fellow  of  fine  w.t,  and  gores  Sandidge  badly  sometimes  when 
he  can  reach  him,  which  is  not  often  the  case,  with  this  w;eapon.  But 
Sandidge  only  smiles,  and  almost  always  gives  things  a  turn  which  is 
sure  to  give  him  the  best  cT  it  at  last." 


46  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  Do  you  usually  have  much  business  in  the  courts  ? " 

"  And  if  so,  which  of  these  men  do  I  employ  to  attend  to  it,  you 
would  ask  ?  Well,"  continued  Mr.  Parkinson,  somewhat  apologetically, 
"  what  little  I  have  in  that  way  I  usually  give  to  Sandidge.  I  have 
known  him  a  long  time,  and  he  has  always  seemed  to  act  an  honest 
part  towards  me.  Besides,  a  man,  you  know,  does  not  usually  like  to 
change  the  channel  of  his  business." 

Mr.  Parkinson  did  not  have  the  heart,  after  what  he  had  said  of  Mr. 
Sandidge's  influence  with  the  presiding  judge,  to  give  that  as  another 
reason  for  retaining  him. 

The  j-oung  man  said  nothing ;  but  he  thought  with  himself  that, 
hard  as  it  was  on  a  poor  fellow  like  Mobley,  it  was  natural.  And  is  it 
the  less  hard  because  it  is  natural,  that  the  world  will  delay  to  give  help 
to  a  man  in  any  business  of  life  until,  by  long  toiling  and  striving  alone, 
he  has  at  last  reached  a  point  where  he  can  live  without  it .''  Yet  such 
is  the  way  of  life.  You  man  with  many  clients,  and  many  more  friends, 
has  there  not  been  a  time  when  nineteen  of  every  twenty  of  those 
whom  you  now  value  the  most  highly  would  have  forborne  to  lend  you 
a  helping  hand,  but  would  have  waited  until  they  had  seen  whether  by 
the  aid  of  the  few  who  did  stand  by  you  you  were  likely  to  rise  or  to 
fall  ?  Let  us  not  then  fall  out  with  what  is  natural  in  our  fellow-men, 
and  what  our  very  selves  would  do,  and  what  we  actually  do,  because 
it  is  natural  to  us.  We  would  spare  ourselves  many  an  uncomfortable 
feeling  of  contempt  for  the  infirmities  of  human  nature  as  we  see  them 
illustrated  in  the  lives  of  our  neighbors,  if  we  would  but  reflect  that, 
what  is  more  often  than  otherwise  the  case  with  us,  we  would  act  in 
the  same  circumstances  just  as  they  do.  Ask  yourself,  O  best  of 
men,  how  many  young  men  are  there  in  any  profession  whom  you  so 
cordially  wish  to  prosper  in  it  that  you  would  be  willing  to  take  any  of 
your  business  out  of  its  old  tried  channel  —  a  channel  so  freighted  with 
yours  and  other  people's  business  that  it  would  not  miss  the  little  you 
take  from  it  —  and  risk  it  in  their  care  until  they  have  proved  that  the 
consignment  will  be  a  safe  one  1  Or  if  you  sometimes  do  this,  is  it 
not  done  a  little  slyl}^,  and  do  you  not  feel  like  apologising,  and  when 
discovered,  do  you  not  actually  apologise  to  the  old  channel,  and  tell 
how  trifling  was  the  freight  you  have  taken  from  it,  and  how  you  sup- 
posed it  would  not  care  to  be  pestered  with  such  a  small  matter?  Yes, 
and  the  old  channel  says  it  makes  no  difference,  and  that  it  is  all  right ; 
but  then  you  feel  as  if  it  was  not  all  right,  and  as  if  you  had  injured 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  47 

the  old  channel,  and  you  go  to   work  straightway  and  ship  a  whole 
boat-load  on  it  at  once. 


CHAPTER   III. 

"  Can't  we  get  through  with  the  docket  by  Friday  night  ? " 

"  There's  business  enough  here  to  occupy  the  whole  week,  and  more 
too.     You'll  have  to  sit  an  adjourned  term  to  get  through  with  it." 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing ;  and  what  is  more,  I  shall  adjourn  the 
court  Friday  night." 

Mr.  Sandidge  smiled  with  wonted  complacency.  "  I  don't  think  we 
can  hardly  get  to  the  Appeal  before  Wednesday  dinner ;  and  it  looks 
like  a  pity  but  what  some  of  them  cases  that's  been  continued  so  long 
could  be  tried.  We  lawyers  aint  like  judges,  to  go  and  draw  our  sala- 
ries every  three  months,  but  have  to  wait  until  the  cases  are  disposed 
of,  and  sometimes  a  long  time  getting  them  then." 

This  excellent  joke  put  him  on  a  broad  grin.  The  Judge  did  not 
seem  to  appreciate  it  much,  though  he  smiled  in  faint  commendation. 

Let  us  contemplate  this  judge  a  little.  He  was  fifty  years  old, 
twenty-five  of  which  had  been  spent  in  the  practice  of  the  law,  in  which 
he  had  risen  to  a  fourth  rank.  As  a  set-off  to  this  professional  emi- 
nence, he  had  remained  as  he  had  begun,  poor  in  purse.  Three  years 
before  this  an  election  was  being  held  for  the  office  of  Judge  of  the 
Superior  Court  of  that  circuit.  J^et  us  remember  that  at  that  time  the 
Judge  of  the  Superior  Court  was  the  only  high  judicial  officer  in  the 
circuit.  He  was  both  judge  and  chancellor.  His  discretion  was 
uncontrolled  and  uncontrollable  in  all  cases  regarding  the  security,  the 
property,  and  reputation  of  citizens  ;  and  even  his  construction  of  the 
Constitution  of  the  State  was  unalterable  by  any  human  power.  Three 
years  before,  politics  had  taken  one  of  its  turns,  and  the  party  to  which 
the  fourth-rate  lawyer  of  twenty-five  }'ears'  practice  belonged  unexpect- 
edly found  itself  with  a  small  majority  in  the  legislature.  The  incum- 
bent of  the  Bench,  being  a  member  of  the  minority,  was  of  course  to 
share  its  fate  and  retire  from  office.  There  were  two  prominent  candi- 
dates from  the  party  in  power ;  one  a  retired  member  of  Congress,  who 
was  finding  it  difficult  to  recover  the  practice  which  he  had  given  up 
fifteen  years  before,  and  the  other  a  man  of  ten  years'  connection  with 


48  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

the  profession,  of  very  promising  talents,  and  of  a  good  property,  who 
sought  the  office  for  the  eclat  and  the  power  which  it  would  confer  upon 
him.  Several  ballots  had  been  made  without  an  election.  Mr.  Elam 
Sandidge,  for  certain  reasons  of  his  own,  had  consented  to  represent 
his  county  in  the  Senate,  and  was  one  of  the  party  in  minority.  A 
more  amused  man  it  was  seldom  any  one's  privilege  to  see  than  was 
he,  when  on  the  repeated  counting  out  of  the  votes  the  presiding  officer 
announced  that  there  had  been  no  election.  He  looked  to  this  and  to 
that  one  on  either  side  of  the  house,  and  went  about  whispering  to 
some  and  winking  at  others. 

"What  is  that  dirty  old  rascal  doing  on  our  side  of  the  aisle?"  in- 
quired a  majority  member  of  his  neighbor. 

"  I  can't  tell ;  but  some  rascality  brings  him  here,  you  may  swear  to 
that." 

While  the  votes  were  being  counted  out  for  the  fifth  time,  Mr  San- 
didge walked  quickly  over  to  that  side.  A  dozen  anxious,  pitiful  look- 
ing members  gathered  around  him. 

"  Put  him  up  next !  put  him  up  next  time ! "  he  said,  and  walked 
back  again,  taking  in  with  a  sweeping  wink  the  whole  of  his  own  party. 
When  the  result  was  announced,  and  directions  given  to  prepare  for 
another  balloting,  "Mr.  President!  I\Ir.  President!"  screamed  a  voice 
from  the  majority  side,  "  I  announce  the  name  of  Littleberry  W.  Mike, 

Esq.,  from  the  county  of ."     This  announcement  was  followed  by 

roars  of  laughter  from  the  minority,  and  by  hisses  and  cries  of  "  Who 
is  he  ? "  from  the  other.  Immediately,  however,  the  leaders  of  both 
were  busy  as  bees.  Threats  and  criminations  were  heard  among  the 
friends  of  the  two  prominent  candidates  ;  then  entreaties  from  both  to 
the  opposition.  "  Take  him  down,  for  Heaven's  sake."  "  It  is  a  shame 
by  blood."  "  Don't  put  him  on  us,  if  you  please."  "Anybody  else," 
etc.     All  to  no  purpose.     The  nominee  was  elected  on  the  next  ballot. 

"  Why,  how  did  you  get  elected,  Berry  ? "  slyly  asked  Mr.  Sandidge 
of  the  judge  elect,  as  on  the  dispersion  of  the  members  he  met  him, 
trembling  and  pale  as  a  corpse,  at  the  foot  of  the  galler}-^,  and  shook 
his  cold  hand.  "  It  appears  like  you  must  have  got  some  votes  from 
our  side  of  the  house."  The  newly  elected  pressed  the  hand  of  his 
friend,  and  they  went  together  to  the  hotel,  on  the  way  to  which  he 
was  forced  to  hear  from  among  the  crowd  many  a  bitter  jest  of  which 
he  was  the  subject. 

This  election  was  an  instance  of  that  miserable  policy  yet  adhered 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  49 

to,  by  which  minorities,  in  order  to  render  majorities  odious,  do  not 
hesitate  to  contribute  all  they  can  to  make  them  do  the  greatest  amount 
of  harm  to  public  interests.  Men  may  say  what  they  will  of  caucuses, 
but  until  there  is  a  higher  standard  of  public  and  private  virtue 
amongst  us,  they  will  be  indispensable. 

When  a  man  of  inferior  parts  is  raised  to  an  office  of  great  author- 
ity, he  is  apt,  unless  he  has  great  virtue  and  very  amiable  dispositions, 
to  exert  that  authority,  as  far  as  is  compatible  with  safety,  in  enforcing 
a  regard  which  those  parts  have  been  inadequate  to  secure.  Cowardly 
as  this  is,  it  is  not  more  injurious  to  truth,  and  justice,  and  reason,  than 
when  such  a  man  is  led  by  such  an  elevation  to  look  upon  himself  as 
having  been  heretofore  depreciated,  and  to  consider  the  elevation, 
whatever  were  the  circumstances  which  effected  it,  as  the  decree  of 
infinite  justice  in  his  favor,  determining  at  last  to  give  to  merit  its  just 
reward.  Sometimes  he.is  in  one,  and  sometimes  in  the  other  of  these  two 
states  alternately ;  never  being  able  to  determine  exactly  whether  he 
ought  to  occupy  his  position  or  not,  but  ever  attempting  to  resolve  the 
doubt  by  such  a  vigorous  exercise  of  authority  as  will  at  least  foreclose 
all  doubts  in  the  minds  of  others  as  to  his  actual  possession  of  it.  Of 
such  a  character  was  the  newly  elected  judge.  He  had  long  had  his 
heart  set  upon  the  Bench.  He  looked  up  to  it  as  a  mighty  eminence 
—  mighty  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  eager  ambition.  Yet  his  desires 
were  not  actuated  wholly  by  ambition.  He  wanted  the  salary.  He 
needed  it.  He  was  poor  and  had  a  family ;  and  pitiful  as  the  salary 
was,  it  was  twice  as  much  as  he  made  by  his  practice.  Ashamed  as 
he  was  to  know  how  the  people  regarded  the  notion  of  his  being  Judge 
of  the  Superior  Court,  he  never,  even  for  one  moment,  gave  up  his 
desire  to  become  so,  but  kept  himself  alw^ays,  yet  in  a  quiet  way,  in 
candidacy  for  it.  And  though  to  the  leading  members  of  the  Bar  he 
had  never  presumed  to  speak  of  tHe  matter,  knowing  that  he  would  be 
laughed  at  if  he  did,  they  yet  well  knew  what  his  thoughts  and  his 
hopes  were.  Nor  had  he  publicly  announced  his  candidacy  at  the 
meeting  of  the  Legislature.  He  knew  well  that  his  only  chance  of 
election  depended  upon  the  fact,  whether  true  or  false  it  made  no  ma- 
terial difference  with  him,  that  he  was  considered  the  weakest  and 
shabbiest  of  the  candidates  of  his  party.  While  the  prominent  ones 
of  these  were  making  interest  with  the  leaders  of  the  party  in  the  Leg- 
islature, he  had  quietly,  and  in  a  way  known  only  to  himself  and  them, 
and  very  probably  to  Mr.,Sandidge,  obtained  the  promise  of  assistance 
7 


50  DUKESBOROUGII   TALES. 

from  a  few  unknown  members  who  should  be  able  by  scattering  their 
votes  under  the  direction  of  him  and  Mr.  Sandidge,  to  defeat  the  elec- 
tion of  any  one  until  a  suitable  opportunity  should  occur  for  the  name 
to  be  presented.     We  have  seen  with  what  result  this  was  done. 

With  the  recollection  of  all  the  circumstances,  Judge  Mike  thanked 
two  objects  for  his  elevation  :  first,  his  own  lucky  genius,  and  secondly, 
Mr.  Sandidge.  He  was,  doubtless,  quite  inclined  to  indulge  in  kindly 
and  grateful  feeling  towards  the  latter  from  habit ;  for  he  was  under  a 
pecuniary  indebtedness  to  him  of  several  hundred  dollars,  under  a  writ 
oi  ficri-facias  which  Mr.  Sandidge  three  or  four  years  before  had  been 
kind  enough  to  "  lift,"  to  have  transferred  to  himself,  and  to  forbear 
enforcing  payment  thereof,  in  consideration  of  sixteen,  which  he  called 
a  living  per-centum  of  interest.  What  sacrifices  the  indulgent  creditor 
was  always  making,  when  at  every  renewal  of  the  note  for  the  extra 
interest  he  solemnly  avowed  his  need  of  the  money,  and  of  his  sub- 
mission to  go  without  it,  for  no  earthly  reason  than  to  oblige  his  friend  ! 
On  that  friend's  accession  to  the  Bench,  when  first  they  were  alone 
together,  he  took  the  last  note  of  renewal  from  his  pocket-book,  and 
handed  it  to  him  without  saying  a  word.  The  Judge  appearing  sur- 
prised, Mr.  Sandidge,  with  smiling  solemnity,  protested  that  he  never 
could  exact  usurious  interest  from  a  Judge  of  the  Superior  Court  of  the 
State  of  Georgia.  He  hoped  he  had  too  much  respect  for  the  dignity 
of  the  office  to  do  any  such  thing  as  that.  The  Judge,  after  feeble  re- 
monstration,  took  the  note,  looked  at  it,  sighed,  and  tearing  it  slowly 
to  pieces,  felt  already  one  of  those  palpitating  and  almost  painful  joys 
which  only  men  in  office  have.  It  was  a  small  matter,  but  it  touched 
him,  and  he  felt  as  if  henceforth  he  could  live. 

But  to  return  to  the  conversation  with  which  this  chapter  began,  and 
which  took  place  in  the  Judge's  room  at  the  hotel,  on  the  Sunday  night 
before  the  sitting  of  the  court. 

"  How  does  that  smart  chap,  Mobley,  get  on  ?  " 

"  About  like  he  was." 

"  Knowing  everything  but  law,  I  suppose,  and  knowing  nothing 
about  that  ? " 

"Just  so.  The  fellow  studies  like  rip  ;  but,  Judge,  he  don't  study 
right.     He  studies  books  instead  of  men." 

Mr.  Sandidge  delivered  this  sentiment  with  contemptuous  pity. 

"  He  thinks  if  we  had  a  Supreme  Court  he  would  do  something 
grand." 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  51 

"He's  for  a  Supreme  Court,  is  he?"  inquired  the  Judge,  with  a 
frown. 

"Warm,  warm.     Has  been  from  the  first." 

"  It  will  be  some  time  before  he  gets  it,  I'm  thinking." 

"  That's  what  I  tell  him." 

"  Thank  God,  it's  only  these  book-men  that  want  a  Supreme  Court. 
They  don't  know,  Sandidge,  they  don't  know  anything  outside  of  books." 

"  Not  the  first  thing.     That's  what  I  tell  'em." 

"  They  think  that  because  such  a  pint  has  been  decided  such  a  way, 
by  such  a  judge,  that  it  should  be  decided  so  always ;  and  they  are 
forever  and  eternally  talking  about  settling  the  law,  settling  the  law  — 
like  it  was,  Sandidge,  just  like  it  was  so  much  coifee." 

Mr.  Sandidge  spat  all  over  himself,  wiped  his  mouth  with  his  hand, 
and  came  very  near  laughing  outright. 

"  And  I  would  like  to  know  how,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  it 
ever  could  get  settled.  There  aint  anything  to  settle  it  by.  That's 
the  pint ;  there  aint  anything  to  settle  it  by."  He  looked  inquiringly 
at  Mr.  Sandidge,  and  seemed  to  wish  that  gentleman  to  tell  what  there 
was  to  settle  it  by  if  he  knew  of  any  such  thing.  The  latter  shook  his 
head. 

"  No  sir !  there  aint  nothing  to  settle  it  by  ;  and  when  Mobley  is 
talking  about  what  Lord  Mansfield  said,  and  what  Lord  Hardwick 
said,  or  any  of  them  old  lords  and  judges,  it's  on  the  end  of  my  tongue 
to  stop  him,  and  tell  him  that  they  are  all  dead,  and  consequently  can't 
know  anything  about  the  case  at  bar.  And,  Sandidge,  it  always  struck 
me  as  very  curious  that  the  laws  of  England  should  be  the  laws  of 
Georgia." 

It  was  a  remarkable  coincidence  that  that  idea  had  over  and  over 
again  struck  Mr.  Sandidge.  He,  however,  hinted  that  in  some  cases 
(and  those  were  cases  in  his  opinion  when  the  authority  happened  to 
be  on  his  own  side)  the  English  law  was  very  plain  and  directly  in 
point,  and  it  ought  to  be  followed. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  in  such  cases  ;  and  I  do  follow  it ;  but  I  am 
the  judge  of  that  myself." 

Ah,  yes,  that  was  right !  Now  they  were  exactly  agreed !  The 
judge,  if  he  was  judge,  of  course  ought  to  be  the  judge.  If  he  wasn't,  of 
course  he  couldn't  be,  which  was  absurd ;  and  Mr.  Sandidge  almost 
frowned  in  the  eflfort  of  elaborating  this  reductio  ad  absurduvi. 

"  Absurd !    so   I  think ;    and  Mobley  and  such  as  he  may  study 


52  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

their  eyes  out  for  me.  When  they  bring  up  law  that  I  think  is  right, 
I  shall  sustain  them  ;  when  I  don't  think  so,  I  shall  overrule  them. 
They  may  get  their  Supreme  Court  if  they  can.  It  aint  going  to  be  in 
my  day,  thank  God  !  If  it  was,  I  just  know  that  I  couldn't  and  wouldn't 
stand  it.  Before  I  would  have  an  overseer  over  me,  and  I  Judge  of 
the  Superior  Court,  and  have  to  be  eternally  looking  into  old  books  to 
find  out  what  them  old  English  lords  and  judges  said  a  hundred  years 
ago,  when  the  country  wasn't  like  this,  nor  the  people  neither  —  why, 
Sandidge,  you  know,  I  havn't  got  the  books,  and  couldn't  afford  to  buy 
them  —  I  say  before  I  would  be  put  to  all  the  trouble  and  expense  of 
reading  law  and  nothing  else,  and  then  have  my  decisions  brought  back 
on  me,  and  treated  like  I  was  —  like  I  was  in  fact  a  nigger  —  I  would 
die  first ! " 

Mr.  Sandidge  smiled  approvingly. 

"  Why,  who  would  respect  me  ? " 

"  Nobody." 

"  How  could  I  enforce  the  authority  of  the  Court  ? " 

"  Couldn't  be  done." 
-  "If  I  put  a  fellow  in  jail,  just  like  as  not  they  would  take  him  out." 

"  Like  as  not." 

"  If  I  fined  one,  ten  to  one  it  wouldn't  stick  !  " 

"Just  so.     He  wouldn't  stay  found." 

"  If  I  refused  to  grant  a  new  trial,  knowing  that  I  am  against  them, 
they  would  send  a  paper  ordering  me  to  grant  it !  Don't  you  see  they 
would,  knowing  I  am  against  'em  ? " 

"  Plain  as  day.  Send  a  paper  ordering  the  Judge  of  the  Superior 
Court ! " 

"  I  tell  you,  Sandidge,  before  I  would  stand  it  I  would  die  first ! 
In  fact,  I  would  resign  ! ! " 

This  was  capping  the  climax.  Dying  would  be  a  poor  and  very  in- 
adequate resentment.  He  would  go  beyond  that.  He  would  volunta- 
rily and  disgustedly  let  go  his  hold  upon  power.  The  consequences 
might  be  what  they  pleased,  he  would  resign.  "  I  tell  you,  Sandidge," 
he  repeated  once  more,  with  fearful  emphasis,  "  I  should  resign  ! !  " 

"  Oh  my  conscience.  Judge,  don't !  don't !  What  would  become  of 
the  country  if  you  were  to  resign  1 " 

Mr.  Sandidge,  although  purposing  to  appear  alarmed,  smiled  not- 
withstanding ;  and  perhaps  the  more  because  he  thought  such  a  deplor- 
able event  not  very  likely  to  come  to  pass  \  and  perhaps  yet  more, 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  53 

because  it  instantly  occurred  to  him  that  if  it  ever  should,  he  would 
console  himself  in  the  midst  of  his  own  losses  and  grief  as  well  as  he 
could  by  replacing  the  extra  interest  upon  the  fi-fa  not  yet  paid  off 
and  discharged. 

"  And  what  will  you  leading  lawyers  do  when  young  men,  smart 
young  men  like  Mobley,  go  before  the  Supreme  Court  with  books  in 
their  hands  and  turn  you  down  ? " 

"  I  shan't  live  to  see  it."  And  it  was  doubtless  the  prospect  of  a  far 
distant  organisation  of  such  a  tribunal,  rather  than  of  his  own  early 
decease,  which  gave  the  gratified  and  complacent  expression  to  that 
smiling:  countenance. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A  SLY  tap  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in." 

The  door  slyly  opened,  and  a  short,  shaggy  individual  entered. 

"  How  do  you  do^  Jedge  Mike  ? "  This  was  uttered  in  a  whining 
but  conciliating  tone,  and  after  first  a  low  bow,  then  a  sudden  lifting  up. 

"  Why,  Sanks,  how  are  you  1     Take  a  seat,  take  a  seat." 

Mr.  Sanks  took  a  seat,  after  being  assured  that  he  was  not  '  a  in- 
trudin'.'  "  Busy  as  I  war,  Sunday  night  as  it  air,  with  a  fixin'  of  all  my 
papers  —  and  —  dockiments  as  it  war,  I  must,  I  must,  positively  I  must 
come  by  for  a  minnit,  ef  jes  to  tell  the  Jedge  how'd-ye  and  to  ax  about 
his  health  and  the  likewise  health  of  his  family.  I  also  likewise  air 
glad  to  see  Mr.  Sandidge  a  lookin'  so  well,  and  as  it  war  ready  for  the 
cote." 

Mr.  John  Sanks  was  the  sheriff.  Two  years  ago  he  had  beaten 
Mr.  Triplet,  an  elderly  man  and  an  old  inhabitant  of  Dukesborough, 
in  the  race  for  the  sheriffalty.  A  poor  fellov/  was  Sanks  ;  but  having 
got  into  office  by  a  trick,  he  had  hopes  of  a  long  and  prosperous  official 
career.  Like  the  Judge,  he  owed  his  greatness  to  Mr.  Sandidge,  and 
therefore  belonged  to  him.  Such  a  sheriff  as  he  was  a  valuable  piece 
of  property  to  such  a  lawyer.  But  then  Mr.  Sandidge  was  a  kind 
master,  and  had  never  put  upon  his  man  a  service  which  the  latter 
was  not  fully  willing  to  perform.  Then  he  got  his  pay  in  many  ways 
besides  in  being  elevated  to  the  great  office  of  keeper  of  the  county. 


54  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

But  oh,  how  glad  Mr.  Sanks  was  to  see  his  Honor !  and  not  only  so, 
but  also  likewise  to  see  him  lookin'  so  well.  Mr.  Sanks  called  Mr. 
Sandidge's  attention  to  the  glorious  fact  that  the  Judge  got  younger 
and  younger  every  court. 

"And  I  am  glad  to  see  you  too,  Sanks.  You  look,  Sanks,  you  look 
right  well  yourself.  All's  well,  I  hope.  Everything  ready  for  court  — 
ch,  Sanks  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir.  People  seems  to  'spect  a  oncommon  interestin'  cote. 
Thar's  a  power  o'  business —  dockets  is  right  heavy," 

"How  are  you  up  with  your  matters,  Sanks?  No  money  rules  this 
term,  I  hope  ? " 

Mr.  Sanks  looked  a  little  timidly  at  Mr.  Sandidge,  who  answered 
for  him. 

"  Oh,  you  are  safe  in  that  matter,  aint  you,  Sanks  ?  Oh  yes.  Judge, 
I  think  so.  As  a  general  thing  Sanks  keeps  up  with  them  things." 
Mr.  S.  never  wore  a  prettier  smile. 

"Ah  !  "  put  in  Mr.  Sanks,  reassured,  "As  long  as  things  is  as  they 
air  now,  I  can  git  along  reasonable  well.  Tryin'  to  be  'onest  myself, 
havin'  of  a  'onest  counsellor,  and  also  likewise  havin'  of  a  'onest  judge, 
I  can  git  along  farly  as  things  is;  that  is,  ef  they  don't  git  changed." 
Mr.  Sanks  looked  suspicious. 

"  Things  get  changed  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  "  inquired  the  Judge. 

"  Well,"  continued  Mr.  Sanks,  in  a  mournful  voice,  "  some  people 
looks  as  ef  they  can't  be  satisfied  with  things  as  they  is,  and  wants  'em 
defferent.  Some  wants  defferent  lawyers,  and  also  likewise  some  goes 
so  fur  as  to  say  they  wants  defferent  jedges."  And  Mr.  Sanks  did  look 
so  sad  in  the  contemplation  of  the  unreasonableness  of  the  world. 

"Wants  different  judges,  eh?"  His  Honor's  expression  was  one  of 
contempt,  not  unmixed  with  anger  and  apprehension. 

"  Well,  now,  they  aint  no  great  numbers  of  people  o'  that  sort  in  the 
county.  It's  mostly  with  them  people  down  about  Dukesborough,  whar 
old  Triplet  lives.  Them  Dukesborough  people  has  jest  run  mad  about 
Dukesborough,  and  also  likewise  thinks  it's  a  bigger  place  than  this 
here  county-seat.  They  goes  so  fur  sometimes  as  to  say  that  the  Cote- 
house  ought  to  be  moved  thar.  After  a  while  they'll  be  thinkin'  it'll 
be  as  big  as  Augusty."  Mr.  Sanks  laughed  immoderately,  but  not 
loudly ;  and  as  Mr.  Sandidge  smiled,  he  looked  grateful  and  kept  on 
laughing.  The  Judge  could  not  see  the  joke,  and  Mr.  Sanks  grew 
serious  again. 


JUDGJE  MIKE'S  COURT.  55 

"Yes,  it's  the  Dukesborough  people.  Don't  you  see,  Jedge,  and 
also  likewise  you,  Mr.  Sandidge,  I  beat  old  Triplet  for  sheriff.  John 
Sanks  air  known  to  be  for  Jedge  Mike  for  jedge  at  next  election  above 
and  agin  —  the  multiplied  world  !  "  It  was  terrible  to  witness  the 
violence  with  which  this  defiant  conclusion  was  uttered.  The  multi- 
plied world  might  have  been  there  and  welcome  to  hear  it. 

"  Yes,  sir,  above  and  agin  the  multiplied  world  !  And  then  you  see, 
Jedge,  thar's  that  young  fellow,  Mobley.  The  Dukesborough  people's 
proud' of  him.  He  was  raised  thar,  you  know;  and  also  likewise  they 
goes  on  to  say  that  he  air  a  bigger  man  than  what  even  Mr.  Sandidge 
air,  or  leastways  he  air  goin'  to  be,  and  that  in  short.  Then  agin,  this 
fellow  have  been  puttin'  in  their  heads  that  we  ought  to  have  a  new 
jedge,  and  he  also  likewise  air  been  talkin'  about  another  sort  of  a  cote 
that  can  sas  sarire  proceedances  and  carry  cases  yit  higher.  But  I  tells 
'em  they  better  be  satisfied  with  things  as  they  air ;  and  so  likewise 
they're  agin  me  at  my  next  election,  and  swear  they  intend  to  beat  me 
with  old  Triplet  yit.  I  don't  keer  about  thar  threats  about  what  they 
can  do  to  me.  Yit  I  hates  to  lose  my  office  jest  for  bein'  of  a  friend 
to  things  as  they  is.  It  war  no  longer  than  last  night  I  told  my  wife, 
says  I,  Sylvy,  says  I,  I  don't  keer  so  much  about  the  office  myself,  says 
I,  but  because  also  likewise  I  know  it  air  mostly  aimed  and  pinted, 
says  I,  at  Jedge  Mike  and  Mr.  Sandidge,  says  I,  which  is  my  friends, 
and  which  I  would  go  fur  all  things  above  and  agin,  says  I,  the  multi- 
plied world,  says  I.  Them's  the  very  words  I  said  to  Sylvy,  no  longer 
than  last  night." 

The  artful  fellow  knew  well  how  to  strengthen  both  himself  and 
Sandidge  with  the  Judge.  The  lawyer  smiled  with  sincere  pleasure 
at  the  sight  of  the  increased  prejudice  of  Judge  Mike  against  Mr. 
Moble)',  whom^  as  we  shall  see,  he  had  some  reason  to  respect  more 
highly  than  he  pretended.  Mr.  Sandidge  admitted  that  the  pernicious 
ideas  of  Mr.  Mobley  had  somewhat  infected  the  Dukesborough  people  ; 
that  is,  not  all  —  some  of  them;  he,  Mr.  Sandidge,  had  some  clients 
among  the  Dukesborough  people,  and  he  was  pretty  sure  that  they  were 
right  on  the  judge  question.  Still,  there  was  a  considerable  sprinkling 
(as  he  expressed  it)  of  Dukesborough  people  in  favor  of  some  changes. 

When  the  visitors  had  retired,  the  Judge  sat  for  a  long  time  looking 
gloomily  into  the  fire.  "That's  the  way,"  he  muttered  at  length. 
"They  go  to  their  colleges,  learn  their  Latin  and  their  Greek  and  their 
Algebry,  and  then  git  above  their  sizes,  and  come  home  and  git  impu- 


56  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

dent  to  old  people,  and  even  want  to  be  so  to  —  to  vie.  But  they  shatiH 
do  it.     I  mean  to  —  sq-uelch  'em."     And  then  his  Honor  went  to  bed. 

Thereupon  Messrs.  Sandidge  and  Sanks  had  some  confidential  chat 
before  separating  for  the  night.  Among  other  things  the  sheriff  ascer- 
tained that  the  lawyer  would  like  to  avoid  the  trial  of  the  Rickles  case  at 
this  term  of  the  court.  Mr.  Sandidge  on  the  other  hand  was  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  fact  that  that  young  fellow,  Mobley,  would  probably 
apply  for  a  money  rule  against  Mr.  Sanks,  for  which  the  latter  feared 
he  could  not  make  a  satisfactory  showing,  and  which  also  likewise  he 
would  probably  need  —  leastways  —  oh,  cerf'inly,  cert'inly  —  providin' 
—  ahem!  Mr.  Sanks  never  had  communicated  important  information 
more  delicately. 

The  night  was  cloudy,  though  it  was  the  season  of  the  full  moon. 
The  latter  shone  suddenly  as  they  stopped  at  the  corner  where  they 
were  to  separate.  The  lawyer  looked  down  for  a  moment  upon  the 
sheriff,  and  the  sheriff  looked  up  to  the  lawyer,  and  the  white  moon 
looked  upon  both.  It  seemed  a  poor  sight  for  all ;  so  the  moon  re- 
tired, and  each  of  the  other  two  slunk  away  to  his  home. 


CHAPTER   V. 

Mr.  Overton  attended  the  court,  and  by  the  assistance  of  Mr. 
Mobley,  obtained  a  seat  within  the  bar.  He  had  been  introduced 
to  several  lawyers  from  different  counties,  and  to  the  Judge.  He  could 
but  remark  the  immense  distance  between  the  latter  and  several  of  the 
former,  who  were  men  of  decided  ability.  A  certain  becoming  respect 
was  paid  by  them  to  the  dignitary,  not  only  in  the  Court-house,  but  at 
the  hotel,  where  the  best  seat,  both  in  the  lawyers'  room  and  at  the 
dinner-table,  was  reserved  for  him  always.  This  treatment  was  received 
in  a  way  which  denoted  both  pleasure  that  it  could  not  be  avoided,  as 
he  thought,  and  a  suUenness  from  the  reflection  that  it  was  rendered 
entirely  to  his  office  and  not  to  himself.  Upon  the  introduction  of  the 
young  man  to  him,  after  scanning  him  closely  and  rudely  for  a  moment, 
he  made  an  ungainly  attempt  to  congratulate  him  upon  his  expected 
accession  to  the  Bar.  Mr.  Mobley  was  heard  to  speak  of  his  new 
acquaintance  as  a  youth  of  talent  and  education.  Then  Mr.  Sandidge, 
who  sat  by  the  Judge  (it  was  at  the  hotel),  whispered  : 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  57 

"Them's  the  sort  that  always  wants  the  Supreme  Court." 

Judge  Mike  scowled  at  the  new-comer,  and  afterwards  took  no  further 
notice  of  him. 

During  the  week  one  could  not  avoid  noticing  how  much  of  an  art 
it  was  to  conciliate  and  control  the  Court.  Mr.  Sandidge  was  the 
favorite.  Everybody  knew  that ;  none  better  than  Mr.  Sandidge  him- 
self, who  had  foreseen  and  foreordained  it.  Now  of  all  positions  in  a 
free  government,  the  one  where  favoritism  was  most  worth  having,  was 
that  of  a  pet  of  a  Circuit  Judge  in  those  times.  When  the  fortunes  of 
men,  their  security,  and  even  their  lives  were  dependent  upon  the  will  of 
an  individual,  and  he  amenable  to  no  earthly  tribunal  for  whatever  errors 
he  might  commit,  or  even  for  wilful  injustice,  except  upon  principles  the 
most  vague  and  uncertain,  it  was  an  art  ranking  almost  as  high  as  the 
science  of  the  law  itself,  and  attainable  by  greater  cost  and  sacrifice, 
to  obtain  an  easy  access  to  the  ear  of  that  most  important  depositary 
of  power.  It  was  the  fortunate  accident  of  our  ancient  judiciary 
system  that  there  was  a  goodly  number  of  virtuous  and  able  men 
upon  the  Bench :  for  neither  virtue  nor  a  very  considerable  amount  of 
talent  seemed  to  be  essential  qualifications.  If  the  incumbent  for  the 
time  possessed  them,  very  well :  if  not,  then  not  so  well,  but  well  enough. 

Judge  Mike  in  the  matter  of  virtue  was  neither  good  nor  very  bad. 
If  he  was  below  the  capacity  to  feel  or  to  understand  a  noble  impulse, 
he  was  probably  above  the  perpetration  of  an  act  of  plain  judicial 
dishonesty.  He  was  a  considerably  better  man  than  Sandidge.  Indeed 
he  might  be  said  to  maintain  in  this  respect  a  sort  of  middle  place 
between  high  and  low,  but  tending  downwards.  Fortunately  for  some, 
unfortunately  for  others,  he  was  not  brave.  Now,  of  all  official  person- 
ages, cowards  are  the  most  troublesome  and  oppressive.  They  are 
troublesome  to  those  of  whom  they  are  afraid,  and  oppressive  to  those 
who  are  afraid  of  them  :  troublesome  to  the  former  by  inflicting  petty 
annoyances  in  the  use  of  small  advantages  and  the  punishment  of 
unimportant  lapses,  on  account  of  the  remembrance  and  the  resent- 
ment they  feel  towards  them  ;  and  oppressive  to  the  latter  in  order 
to  preserve  the  equilibrium  between  the  feeling  and  the  excitement  of 
fear.  These  infirmities  are  not  peculiar  to  official,  nor  even  to  human 
cowards.  For  indeed,  I  remember  well  to  have  been  much  amused, 
many  years  ago,  by  a  cur  who  had  been  badly  bitten  and  conquered 
by  another.  As  soon  as  he  was  disengaged  from  his  adversary,  and, 
with  his  tail  bent  between  his  hind  legs,  was  making  his  way  home  with 


58  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

what  speed  he  could  employ,  he  spied  one  of  those  little  dogs  commonly 
designated  amongst  the  Southern  people  Z-^fice.  The  little  fellow  came 
trotting  down  the  street  in  innocent  gayety,  and  I  thought  then  and 
think  now  that  I  had  never  seen  an  individual  of  his  species  less 
expectant  both  of  doing  and  especially  of  suffering  wrong.  Yet  so  it 
was,  that  the  cur  rushed  furiously  upon  him  without  any  known  justi- 
fiable cause,  and  even,  as  I  suspected,  without  any  previous  acquaint- 
ance ;  and  then  he  shook  him  until  he  was  beaten  off  with  rods.  After 
he  had  gotten  out  of  the  reach  of  these  he  went  on  his  way  leisurely, 
apparently  satisfied  that  he  was  again  even  with  the  world.  And 
then,  notwithstanding  the  little  beast  made,  as  I  considered,  rather 
more  ado  and  for  a  longer  time  than  was  at  all  necessary,  and  not- 
withstanding he  was  a  very  useless  creature,  yet  I  could  but  pity  him 
and  at  the  same  time  be  amused,  because  he  seemed  to  have  so  thorough 
a  sense  of  having  been  made  to  suffer  without  the  slightest  provocation. 

But  to  return  to  the  Judge.  Mr.  Sandidge  was  the  favorite.  Judge 
Mike  liked  Mr.  Sandidge ;  not  only  for  past  favors  of  the  kind  we 
know  of,  but  for  another  reason.  He  considered  Mr.  Sandidge  as  a 
man  like  himself,  and  about  of  his  quality.  He  liked  to  see  such  a 
man  succeed  if  anybody  must  succeed.  He  felt  that  he  did  honor  to 
himself  in  thus  honoring  his  image,  as  it  were.  Mr.  Sandidge  made 
no  great  pretension  to  a  knowledge  of  books,  and  he  thanked  him  for 
that.  Mr.  Sandidge  never  so  much  as  hinted  about  a  Supreme  Court, 
but  seemed  to  be,  as  in  fact  he  was,  satisfied  with  the  present  ways  of 
administering  justice.  Such  being  the  relations  between  them,  Mr. 
Sandidge  was  lucky  in  getting  rulings  in  his  favor.  He  was,  indeed,  a 
much  better  lawyer  than  the  Judge,  and  shrewd  enough  to  beguile  him 
of  many  a  wrong  decision,  even  had  the  latter  been  indifferent  to  him. 

But  notwithstanding  this  favoritism,  there  were  two  or  three  lawyers 
of  real,  and  even  of  first-rate  ability,  who,  in  spite  of  their  contempt 
for  him  and  his  dislike  of  them,  exerted  over  him  that  influence  which 
a  strong  and  bold  intellect  must  always  have  over  a  weak  and  timid 
one.  Above  flattering  him,  they  often,  and  even  against  Sandidge, 
obtained  rulings  of  doubtful  right,  when  he  was  unable,  both  from  his 
dread  of  them,  and  from  his  confused  senses,  to  resist  them.  But  to 
compensate  Mr.  Sandidge  for  this,  and  as  if  to  preserve  his  own 
regard  for  himself,  he  eagerly  sought  for  opportunities  to  help  him 
in  taking  advantage  of  oversights  in  pleadings  and  in  proof;  oversights 
which  Mr.  Sandidge  himself  never  committed,  and  never  failed  to 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  59 

observe  when  committed  by  others.  Then  he  was  graciously  allowed 
to  domineer  to  any  extent  over  the  younger  lawyers.  These  stood  in 
great  awe  of  the  Bench.  They  could  neither  cajole  nor  browbeat. 
Even  a  respectful  remonstrance  from  them  was  usually  followed  by  a 
fine,  or  a  threat  of  it.  They  therefore  timidly  went  about  their  business 
in  the  Court,  hoping  for  the  advent  of  the  time  when  they  could  be 
browbeaters  or  Sandidges. 

Like  most  small-minded  men  who  go  upon  the  Bench,  Judge  Mike 
set  himself  up  as  a  great  reformer  of  abuses.  He  was  a  terror  to  evil- 
doers, especially  to  those  who  did  it  on  a  small  scale.  Before  great 
criminals,  who  had  the  great  lawyers  for  their  advocates,  he  was  wont 
sometimes  to  be  quite  moderate ;  but  whenever  he  got  a  chance  at 
petty  offenders,  he  would  stick  the  law  on  to  them  (to  use  his  own 
phrase)  up  to  the  very  hub.  There  were  two  vices  in  particular  which 
he  hated  cordially.  These  were  fighting  and  usury.  Whenever  he 
could  get  a  blow  at  either  of  these,  he  struck  with  all  his  official 
might.  On  the  third  day  of  the  term,  when  a  man  was  tried  and  con- 
victed of  giving  a  moderate  drubbing  to  a  scoundrel  who  had  used 
insulting  language  to  his  wife,  he  imposed  a  fine  so  heavy  that  the 
defendant,  not  being  able  to  raise  the  money,  was  forced  to  lie  in  jail 
for  many  weeks.  It  was  a  great  recommendation  to  the  prosecutor 
that  he  was  known  to  be  one  who  had  been  whipped  several  times  for 
sundry  rascalities. 

Mr.  Sandidge  well  knew  the  Judge's  weakness  on  the  subject  pf 
usury,  and  ever  since  his  elevation  had  been  confining  his  financial 
operations  to  shaving  paper,  or  so  wording  usurious  contracts  as  to 
render  their  proof  exceedingly  difficult.  Then  he  was  lucky  enough 
to  make  more  money  from  such  transactions  than  ever  before ;  for 
now,  almost  by  the  invitation  of  the  presiding  Judge,  the  pleading  of 
usury  became  frequent,  and  there  was  no  lawyer  to  be  compared  with 
Mr.  Sandidge  in  ferreting  testimony  in  its  proof. 

Of  the  younger  lawyers,  Mr.  Mobley  was  an  exception  to  being 
in  fear  of  the  Judge.  He  was  usually  much  embarrassed  in  the 
conduct  of  cases  merely  from  his  want  of  familiarity  with  precedents 
and  forms.  Here  was  Mr.  Sandidge's  forte.  He  understood  pleadings 
thoroughly,  and  it  was  his  delight  to  pick  flaws  in  his  adversary's 
papers  and  drive  him  out  of  Court.  Mr.  Mobley  dreaded  both  the 
Court  and  its  favorite  on  this  ground ;  but  otherwise  he  was  insensible 
to  fear. 


6o  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

But  the  people  :  they  felt  the  weight  of  this  power,  and  they  should 
feel  it.  All  absences  of  witnesses  and  jurors,  all  noises  in  the  Court- 
room and  Court-yard,  all  misdemeanors  of  all  sorts,  met  with  ready 
and  condign  punishment ;  always  more  condign  when  their  convictions 
came  on  shortly  after  a  series  of  browbeatings  from  those  whom  he  could 
not  frighten.  These  had  been  more  frequent  than  usual  during  the  week 
from  one  and  another  cause.  He  had  reached  to  Thursday  afternoon, 
and  was  engaged  in  a  peculiarly  perplexing  case,  when  an  incident 
occurred  which  would  seem  to  be  rather  singular  for  a  Court  of 
Justice. 

A  man  in  the  crowd  outside  of  the  bar  having  a  cold,  blew  his 
noise — an  action  natural  and  even  frequently  necessary  to  a  man  with 
that  ailment.  The  action  in  this  case  was  accompanied  by  the  usual 
loudness  of  sound  produced  by  those  who  have  uncommonly  good 
lungs;  so  loud  indeed  that  several  members  of  the  Bar,  with  amused 
countenances,  looked  in  the  direction  from  which  it  proceeded.  The 
Judge  became  thoroughly  fierce  in  an  instant;  and  he  needed  a 
diversion  from  the  lawyer  who  had  been  goading  him,  to  a  less  for- 
midable adversary. 

"  Stop  this  case  a  minute.  Mr.  Sheriff,  bring  that  nose-blower  inside 
of  this  bar." 

Mr.  Sanks  obeyed  with  alacrity,  and  went  to  the  culprit,  laying  his 
hand  rudely  upon  him. 

"  Look  ye  here,  John  Sanks,  what  do  you  want  with  me  ? "  the  man 
said,  in  a  subdued  tone,  for  he  had  not  heard  the  Judge's  order. 

"Well,  now,"  answered  Sanks,  loudly,  "you  jest  better  come  along, 
and  also  likewise  you  better  come  quick  !  " 

"  I  have  yit  to  see  the  man,"  began  the  gentleman  with  the  cold. 
But  a  bystander  having  whispered  to  him  that  the  Judge  had  sent  for 
him,  he  went  in  at  once.  Perhaps  it  was  fortunate  that  his  words  had 
not  reached  the  Bench. 

"I  wish  to  know,  sir,  if  this  Court-house  is  a  stable,  sir,  that  you 
must  bray  in  it  like  a  jackass."  The  man  seemed  greatly  surprised  by 
the  question,  but  answered  it  respectfully  and  candidly  in  the  negative, 

"  What  do  you  bray  in  it  for  then,  sir  ?  " 

The  poor  fellow  was  now  becoming  confused  and  alarmed.  He 
said  nothing  at  first,  but  looked  around  and  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
make  out  how  it  was  that  he  should  be  there. 

"  Do  you  hear,  sir?  "  roared  the  Judge  ;  "  what  are  you  braying  here 
for,  sir?" 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  6l 

"Why,  Jedge,  I  aint  been  a  brayin'." 

"What,  sir?" 

"I  said  I  didn't  br  —  Oh! — leastways  I  didn't  knoiv  that  I  was  a 
brayin',  I  jest  blowed  —  Oh  !  —  leastways  I  thought  I  jest  blowed  my 
nose,  havin'  of  a  bad  cold." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  anyway,  sir  ?  " 

"Why,  Jedge,  I  jest  come  to  Cote." 

"  Got  any  business  here  ? " 

"No,  sir.     Leastwaj's  I  haint  got  no  particklar  business." 

"What  did  you  come  here  for  then,  sir?" 

"Why,  I  thought,  Jedge,  that  everybody  was  liable  to  come  to  Cote." 

'•^Liable!  liable!  Yes,  and  so  they  are.  And  you  will  find  that 
they  are  liable  to  behave  themselves;  and  if  they  don't,  that  they  are 
liable  to  be  fined.     What  is  your  name,  sir  ?  " 

"  Allen  Thigpen,  sir," 

"  Thigpen !  Thigpen  !  I  might  have  known  that  anybody  with 
that  name  couldn't  tell  a  Court-room  from  a  stable.  And  whereabouts 
do  you  live  ? " 

This  question  seemed  to  relieve  Allen  of  a  portion  of  his  appre- 
hension ;  for  he  was  proud  of  the  location  of  his  home.  So  he 
answered,  almost  with  dignity  : 

"  Why,  Jedge,  I  live  mighty  nigh  too  Dukesborough,  on  the  big, 
plain,  straightforrard  road  from  Dukesborough  to  Augusty.  Yes,  sir, 
that's  right  whar  I  live,  shore."  And  Allen  looked  as  if  he  thought 
that  if  any  fact  could  save  him,  it  was  that  of  his  residence. 

"  Dukesborough,  eh  ?  De-ukesborough  !  A  big^  place  is  Dukes- 
borough. But  I  must  let  the  Dukesborough  people  know  that  it  aint 
quite  big  enough  for  them  to  run  over  me.  Mr.  Thigpen,  you  of  the 
great  town  of  Dukesborough,  you  are  fined  in  the  sum  of  two  dollars." 
The  Judge  turned  from  him,  and  ordered  the  parties  to  proceed  with 
the  cause.  Allen  in  the  meanwhile  ran  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and 
withdrawing  an  old  buckskin  purse,  emptied  its  contents  into  the  other 
hand,  and  counting  the  pieces  with  a  rueful  face,  walked  up  two  or 
three  steps  and  extended  them  to  the  Judge. 

"Jedge,"  said  he,  "dollar  one  and  nine  is  the  highth  of  my  ambi- 
tion, ef  I  was  goin'  to  be  hung.  But,  Jedge,  ef  you  will  trust  me,  I'll 
pay  you  the  other  half  and  seven-pence  as  shore  as  my  name  is 
Thig  —  that  is  as  —  ah  !  —  oh  !  " — 

JBut  Allen  could  not  finish  it.      Whether  from  looking  upward  at  so 


62  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

resplendent  a  luminary,  or  from  the  violence  of  his  cold,  we  could  not 
say  ;  but  as  his  Honor  was  gazing  upon  the  extended  hand  in  ludicrous 
surprise  and  wrath,  Allen  felt  a  sudden  impulse  to  sneeze  —  an  impulse 
which,  whenever  it  comes,  in  court-rooms  or  elsewhere,  must  be  obeyed. 
No  hum.an  being  ever  could  have  made  greater  efforts  to  suppress  it ; 
and  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  its  victory  was  only  the  more  triumphant, 
and  violent,  and  disastrous. 

*'  Oh,  Jedge  !     Lord  'a  mercy  !  " — 

In  his  terror,  and  endeavoring  to  assure  the  Judge  that  he  was  doing 
his  best,  he  could  not  avert  his  eyes  from  him.  His  face  assumed  the 
agonized  contortions  of  a  maniac,  his  great  chest  heaved  like  a 
mountain  in  labor,  and  he  uttered  a  shriek  which,  in  any  circumstances 
but  those  that  plainly  showed  that  nothing  uncommonly  serious  was 
the  matter,  would  have  filled  all  within  a  circle  of  two  hundred  yards 
diameter  with  consternation.  In  the  violence  of  the  paroxysm  the  coin 
flew  up  from  his  hand  as  if  they  had  been  discharged  from  a  catapult, 
and  coming  down,  several  of  them  fell  upon  the  Judge's  head  and 
rolled  into  his  lap.  An  .instantaneous  roar  of  laughter  followed  this 
explosion,  but  was  as  instantly  hushed.  No  words  could  depict  the 
expressions  upon  the  faces  of  the  two  prominent  actors.  The  Judge 
had  been  lifted  out  of  his  chair,  and  there  the  two  stood  glaring  at 
each  other,  speechless.  His  Honor  snatched  up  the  docket  with  the 
evident  intention  of  knocking  Mr.  Thigpen  down.  Mr.  Thigpen  looked 
at  it  beseechingly,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Knock  me  down  in  welcome,  but 
please  don't  hang  me."  Thus  they  were  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute; 
then  the  Judge,  feeling  doubtless  that  neither  the  penal  code  nor  the 
Court's  discretion  was  adequate  to  punish  the  outrage  as  it  deserved, 
said  almost  in  a  whisper,  as  the  offender  stood  now  with  both  hands 
extended  and  his  face  yet  contorted  and  unwiped  : 

'•  For  God's  sake,  be  off  from  here,  you  cussed  fool,  and  never  let  me 
see  you  again  in  this  world  !  " 

Allen  picked  up  his  hat. 

"  I'm  mighty  much  obleeged  to  you,  Jedge.  Far  you  well,  Jedge," 
and  then  he  hurried  away.  It  was  well  that  he  did  ;  for  the  Judge  was 
well-nigh  committing  him  for  what  he  would  have  considered  a  contempt, 
his  thus  bidding  him  adieu. 

A  crowd  followed  him,  and  were  roaring  with  laughter  as  soon  as 
they  had  gotten  fairly  without  hearing  of  the  Court. 

"  How  did  you  feel,  Allen  t " 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  63 

"  Feel  ? "  replied  Allen  ;  "  I  didn't  have  no  feelins  to  feel  with. 
They  was  all  scared  out  o'  me.  Je-rusalem  !  wan't  the  old  man  hot, 
and  aint  he  brash  with  people  that's  got  colds  ? " 

"  He  called  you  names,  eh,  Allen  ?  " 

"  He  did  that,  and  when  he  looked  so  vi-grous  at  me,  and  called  me 
a  jackass,  ding  my  skin  ef  I  war  exactly  certin  whether  I  war  one  or 
not." 

"  But  what  made  you  carry  him  the  money  ?  " 

"  Carry  him  the  money  ?  Why,  wan't  that  right  .-•  He  found  me. 
I  thought  the  money  was  his'n.  I  'lowed  that  was  the  way  he  got  his 
livin'." 

They  whooped. 

"  But  what  made  you  tell  him  farwell  ?  If  you  hadn't  come  out  so 
quick  after  that,  he  would  have  had  you  again." 

"  What  ?  Why  he  told  me  to  be  off,  and  I  war  off,  and  as  I  spozened 
that  I  mout  never  see  him  no  more,  I  thought  I  ought  to  bid  him  far- 
well.  Well,  it  doo  beat !  It  did  look  like  I  ought  to  be  perlite ;  but 
sich  it  is.  Tryin'  to  brace  myself  agin  onpoliteness,  it  seem  like 
I  were  mighty  nigh  bustin'  on  tother." 

"  Well,  gentle-men,"  he  continued,  after  they  had  somewhat  subsided, 
"  I  say,  gentle-men  !  Thar's  two  things  in  this  country  that  I  am  agin  : 
and  them's  schools  and  cote-houses.  When  I  war  standin'  thar  before 
him,  and  he  war  talkin'  about  jackasses,  and  brayin'  and  all  sich,  ef 
my  feelins  hadn't  been  all  skeerd  out  o'  me,  and  ef  I  had  of  had  my 
jedgment  about  me,  I  should  a  felt  like  little  Asa  Boatright  and  Sam 
Pate  used  to  look  like  they  felt  when  Iserl  Meadows  told  'em  to  go 
to  horsin' :  and  I  did  hope  and  did  cal'clate  never  to  have  them  feelins 
endurin'  o'  my  nat'ral  life.  Howbesomever,  that  aint  neither  here  nor 
thar  now.  Gentlemen,  I  never  seed  a  man  before  that  I  was  afeerd  of. 
I  thought  everybody  was  liable  to  come  to  Cote  :  but  I  comes  no 
more  without  I'm  fotch.  It  'pears  like,  as  the  old  sayin'  goes,  that 
he  neither  likes  my  name  nor  my  nation.  When  I  sneezed — and  I 
tell  you,  gentle-men,  I  couldn't  a  helped  it  ef  the  gallis  had  been  right 
afore  me  —  when  I  sneezed,  says  I  to  myself — gone!  But  ding  my 
skin,  ef  I  don't  believe  that's  what  saved  me.  I  tell  you,  gentle-men, 
I'm  agin  'em  ;  and  now  I  goes  home.     So  far  you  well." 

So  Mr.  Thigpen  »left.  Many,  many  times  after  that  day,  yea  even 
down  to  old  age,  he  was  heard  to  say  that  he  had  "  never  seed  but  one 
man  that  he  was  afeerd  of,  and  that  was  the  Jedge  —  old  Jedge  Mike 
as  used  to  be." 


64  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

"  Strain  vs.  Rickles." 

It  was  now  Friday  morning.  Judge  Mike  was  weary  with  the  session, 
and  fretful  from  repeated  wranglings  with  several  leading  lawyers. 
These  had  now  all  gone,  the  great  cases  having  been  either  tried  or 
continued.  He  had  announced  his  determination  to  adjourn  early 
that  afternoon,  whether  the  dockets  were  finished  or  not.  The  Court 
had  not  seen  its  family  in  two  weeks,  and  it  must  and  would  see  its 
family  by  to-morrow  night.  Mr.  Sandidge  was  in  the  enjoyment  of 
mild  happiness;  not  only  from  the  remembrance  of  having  had  a  good 
run  of  luck  during  the  week,  but  because  the  Judge  was  in  a  hurry,  and 
the  case  of  Strain  vs.  Rickles  was  yet  untried.  He  wished  it  continued  : 
for  he  was  of  counsel  for  the  defendant,  and  they  had  no  just  defence. 
Mr.  Mobley,  though  he  had  appeared  but  few  limes,  was  sore  from 
more  than  one  insult  from  the  Bench. 

"  Strain  vs.  Rickles,"  called  the  Judge,  rapidly  and  fretfully,  with 
pen  in  hand,  as  if  to  say  that  this  case  was  expected  to  follow  the  fate 
of  the  half  dozen  preceding,  and  be  disposed  of  summarily. 

"  Ready  for  the  plaintiff,"  announced  Mr.  Mobley. 

The  Judge  dropped  his  pen,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  cast  a 
threatening  look  at  the  counsel.  It  did  not  seem  to  produce  the  effect 
desired.     Mr.  Mobley  looked  at  him  steadily. 

Mr.  Sandidge  would  remark  that  that  was  a  case  in  which  some 
pints  of  law  were  involved ;  and  as  the  Court  had  not  seen  its  family 
in  two  weeks,  and  as  it  was  anxious  to  adjourn  itself,  and  to  go  home 
and  to  see  its  family,  he  therefore  would  suggest  that,  if  the  counsel 
was  willing,  it  might  be  continued  generally  until  the  next  term.  Mr. 
Mobley,  objecting  to  this  disposition,  Mr.  Sandidge,  after  having  a 
witness  called  and  receiving  no  answer,  proceeded  to  make  a  showing 
for  a  continuance  by  the  defendant.  This  was  the  absence  of  a  witness 
whoj  as  he  had  been  informed,  knew  ail  about  the  case  from  beginning 
to  end.  Mr.  Mobley  had  begun  to  argue  the  insufficiency  of  the 
showing  for  its  indefiniteness,  when  his  client.  Strain,  informed  him 
that  he  had  just  seen  the  witness,  who  had  heard  the  sheriff's  call,  and 
had  answered  to  a  bystander,  who  asked  him  why  he  did  not  obey  it, 
"  It's  nobody  but  Mr.  Sandidge,  and  I  know  what  he  wants."  Mr. 
Mobley  made  this  fact  known  to  the  Court.  Mr.  Sandidge  seemed  a 
little  confused  by  this  accident,  until  Sanks  whispered  in  his  ear : 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  65 

"  You  needn't  be  afeerd  o'  that  jury.  There's  two  men  on  it  which 
they  knows  nie,  and  which  also  likewise  I  knows  them." 

The  Judge  hesitated.  Mr.  Sandidge,  foreseeing  the  effect  upon  both 
of  an  exposure  of  what  was  the  fact,  that  he  had  instructed  the  witness 
not  to  obey  the  call,  withdrew  his  motion. 

"  I  do  this,  may  it  please  your  Honor,  not  from  anything  my  brother 
Mobley  has  said  in  his  argument,  nor  from  his  insinuations,  and  so 
forth,  and  so  forth.  The  showing  is  a  sufficient  one;  but  I'll  waive  it, 
I'll  waive  it,  sir." 

And  Mr.  Sandidge  gave  such  a  mighty  sweep  with  his  long  arm  that 
Mr.  Sanks  had  to  dodge  in  order  to  prevent  his  hat  being  knocked  off. 
Yet  that  official  seemed  greatly  to  admire  the  action,  and  also  likewise 
sat  down  in  a  chair  and  giggled. 

"Yes,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Sandidge,  "I'll  waive  it,  and  I  think  I  am 
prepared  —  I  say,  I  think  I'm  prepared  "  (noticing  the  dissatisfaction  of 
the  Court  with  the  direction  the  .matter  was  taking)  "  to  end  tiiis  case  in 
short  order.     The  defendant  is  ready." 

The  jury  were  in  the  box.  Mr.  Mobley  proceeded  with  his  case.  It 
was  a  simple  action  upon  a  promissory  note  given  by  the  defendant  to 
the  plaintiff,  who  was  a  merchant  from  Augusta.  He  read  the  declara- 
tion, exhibited  the  note,  and  closed. 

Mr.  Sandidge  rose,  and  with  a  smile  which  was  meant  to  assure  all 
present  that  he  was  expecting  a  speedy  triumph,  remarked  that  this 
was  a  case  which  he  apprehended  would  not  long  be  occupying  the 
time  of  the  Court  and  time  of  the  country.  He  then  announced  to  Mr, 
Mobley,  that  upon  consulting  with  his  client  he  had  just  discovered 
that  the  consideration  of  the  note  sued  on  was  usurious,  and  that  his 
conclusion  being  to  rely  on  that  defence  solely,  he  should  be  compelled 
to  ask  for  time  in  order  to  make  out  the  plea,  unless  counsel  would 
agree  to  consider  it  in  already.  Mr.  Mobley,  turning  to  his  client, 
who  assured  him  that  it  was  false,  allowed  him  to  proceed. 

A  witness,  the  same  who  had  been  called,  and  who  was  sent  for 
privately  by  Mr.  Sandidge,  went  to  the  stand.  After  the  usual  pre- 
liminary that  he  did  not  in  particular  charge  his  mind,  not  expecting 
to  be  called  on,  he  did  testify  that  he  was  present  at  the  giving  of  the 
note,  and  that  he  heard  the  parties  say  that  it  was  in  settlement  of 
accounts  of  three  or  four  years'  standing,  which  the  plaintiff  held 
against  the  defendant.  In  answer  to  a  question  from  Mr.  Mobley  if 
anything  was  said  about  extra  interest,  the  witness  declared  that  he  did 
9 


66  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

not  in  particlar  charge  his  mind,  not  expecting  to  be  called  on. 
None  but  Mr.  Sandidge  would  have  seen  any  advantage  to  be  obtained 
from  such  testimony.  But  he  looked  most  gratefully  at  the  witness, 
expressed  himself  fully  satisfied,  dismissed  him,  smiled  benignly  on 
the  jury,  compassionately  on  Mr.  Mobley,  then  sat  down  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  had  satisfactorily  finished  one  piece  of  business  and 
after  a  little  rest  would  be  ready  for  another. 

Plaintiff's  counsel  looked  at  the  Judge  with  an  expression  which 
seemed  to  say,  "  Surely  no  fool,  not  even  you,  would  admit  such  testi- 
mony." The  Judge  looked  at  him,  and  his  expression  seemed  to  ask, 
"What  do  you  say  to  that,  Mr.  Mobley?"  The  latter  avowed  his 
belief  that  in  all  judicial  history  a  thing  so  absurd  had  never  been 
proposed,  and  he  moved  to  be  allowed  to  take  his  verdict.  Mr.  San- 
didge began  at  once  to  argue  the  law  point,  and  was  proceeding  to  say 
that  in  all  his  recollection,  in  a  practice  of  twenty-five  years  and  better, 
he  had  never  seen  a  case  where  interest  could  be  collected  on  open 
accounts.  "  But,  may  it  please  your  Honor,  the  plaintiff  in  this  case  — 
and  these  Augusty  merchants  " — 

"  Go  on  to  the  jury  !  "  thundered  the  Judge. 

Mr.  Sandidge  bowed,  and  turned  to  the  panel.  "  Gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  these  Augusty  merchants  as  a  general  thing  always  know  what 
they  are  about.  I  say  always  —  not  a  single  exception  ; "  and  he 
bestowed  on  the  plaintiff  a  look  fully  significant  of  his  admission  that 
he  was  entitled  to  his  share  of  the  encomium  thus  passed  upon  the 
class  of  which  he  was  an  individual. 

"  These  Augusty  merchants  know  more  in  an  hour  about  some  things 
than  we  plain  country-people  know  in  a  week.  And  it  is  reason- 
able to  suppose  that  they  do,  and  that's  because  they  are  Augusty 
merchants."  Then  Mr.  Sandidge  took  a  big  smile  and  a  small  drink 
of  water,  and  oh  how  cunning  he  did  look  as  his  eyes  peered  over  the 
tumbler  at  the  jury. 

"  Why,  gentlemen,  what  chance  have  we  got,  away  off  here  in  the 
country,  to  keep  up  along  with  them  Augusty  merchants.''  We  don't 
have  the  boats,  and  the  power  of  the  wagons,  and  the  thousands  of 
cotton-bags,  and  tobacco-hogsheads,  and  the  fine  brick  war-houses, 
and  the  hardwar-stores,  and  the  other  stores  that  always  keeps  full  of 
one  particlar  kind  of  goods,  and  sometimes  more  in  one  of  'em  there 
than  there  is  in  every  store  in  this  here  town  —  yes,  and  them  in  Dukes- 
borough  put  together.     Why,  gentlemen,  if  Tommy  Rickles  was  to  go 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  67 

to  Augusty  —  you  aint  never  been  there,  have  you,  Tommy  ?  No  — 
you  may  tell  from  Tommy  Rickles'  looks  and  from  this  case  that  he's 
never  been  to  Augusty.  But  if  he  was  to  go  there,  and  was  to  want 
to  buy  a  dog-knife  for  his  little  boy,  Tommy  Rickles  would  just  as  apt 
to  go  into  a  store  that  had  nothing  but  calico  and  dry-goods  ;  and 
when  they  laughed  and  told  him  they  was  jest  out  of  knives,  he  might 
go  to  a  hat-store,  and  then  into  a  shoe-store,  and  then  into  a  candy- 
store —  yes,  gentlemen,  into  a  store  that  the  shelves  was  farly  linded 
with  jars  of  candy  and  nothing  but  candy.  And  so  it  might  be  an 
hour  before  he  got  to  a  hardwar-store  and  found  a  dog-knife  for  his 
little  boy ;  and  then  ten  to  one  Tommy  Rickles  couldn't  find  his  way 
back  to  his  wagon." 

Oh  how  Mr.  John  Sanks  did  laugh  at  Tommy  during  this  harangue  ! 
not  loudly,  but  heartily  and  good-humoredly.  And  then  how  innocent 
and  pitiful  Tommy  did  look,  and  how  ashamed  of  his  ignorance  !  The 
jury  smiled  approvingly  with  Mr.  Sanks  ;  but  Tommy  looked  so  bashful 
and  bad  that  they  got  sorry  for  him  and  quit  smiling. 

"I  say,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  continued  Mr.  Sandidge,  "we  don't 
know  anything  at  all  to  compare  with  these  Augusty  merchants.  But 
still  there  are  some  things  that  we  do  know,  if  we  do  live  here  in  the 
country  where  there  aint  any  boats,  and  hat-stores  and  candy-stores 
and  hardwar-stores ;  and  one  of  them  things  is  that  you  ce-ant  collect 
interest  on  open  accounts.  We  all  know  that  —  that  is,  all  except 
Tommy  Rickles." 

General  laughter,  notwithstanding  that  Tommy  looked  still  more 
pitiful.  Mr.  Sanks  winked  at  the  two  jurymen  which  he  knew  and 
which  also  likewise  knew  him.  Mr.  Mobley  noticed  this  action,  but 
perhaps  he  did  not  mind  it. 

"  And,  gentlemen.  Tommy  Rickles  knew  it  too,  if  he  had  thought 
about  it  and  hadn't  been  with  a  Augusty  merchant,  and  hadn't  been 
thinking  of  the  boats,  and  the  power  of  the  wagons,  and  the  hat-stores 
and  the  shoe-stores  and  the  candy-stores  and  the  hardwar-stores,  and 
got  his  senses  all  mixed  up,  and  confused  up,  and  muddled  up  together, 
as  it  war." 

Continued  laughter,  several  of  the  jury  appearing  to  be  fully  satisfied. 
The  Judge  waxing  stern  at  the  disorder,  Mr.  Sandidge  had  to  moderate 
his  humor,  and  concluded  by  arguing,  as  heatedly  and  seriously  as  he 
could,  that  interest  not  being  collectible  on  open  accounts,  even  the 
defendant  ought  not  to  have  included  it  in  the  note,  and  that  therefore 


68  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

the  whole  transaction  was  usurious.  With  another  avowal  of  his  desire 
not  to  take  up  the  time  of  the  Court  and  the  time  of  the  country  by 
arguinu;  so  pi  lin  a  case,  he  Sit  down,  his  countenance  expressing  both 
a  virtuous  indignation  at  a  great  wrong  which  was  attempted,  and  a 
proud  satisfaction  that  it  could  not  be  done  over  his  shoulders. 

Mr.  Mobley  felt,  that  with  all  the  prejudices  of  the  Judge  against 
himself  and  his  weakness  on  the  subject  of  usury,  he  was  in  some 
danger  of  losing  his  case.  He  spoke  with  great  energy  on  the 
absurdity  of  the  defendant's  plea,  and  of  its  plain  dishonesty.  In  the 
midst  of  his  argument,  Mr.  Sandidge  flippantly  a>ked  him  for  his 
authorities.  This  was  done  of  course  to  embarrass  him,  as  he  would 
have  been  forced  to  admit  that  there  was  no  authority  on  such  a  point. 
But  he  had  now  gotten  too  high  to  be  reached  by  Mr.  Sandidge. 

"  I  am  asked,"  he  said,  "  for  the  production  of  authority  that  the 
giving  a  promissory  note  in  liquidation  of  a  just  debt  is  not  usurious. 
1  am  thus  asked  by  a  lawyer  of  twenty  five  years'  practice  —  a  lawyer 
who  is  old  enough  and  prominent  enough  to  be  what  it  behooves  every 
lawyer  to  be,  a  conservator  of  public  tranquillity  and  private  integrity  — 
one  who,  with  all  his  boasted  contempt  of  legal  precedents  and  his 
real  ignorance  of  them,  yet  knows  full  well  that  in  no  Court  of  Justice, 
even  the  most  insignificant,  was  this  question,  or  any  other  one  so 
absurd  as  this,  ever  raised  ;  and  whose  only  reason  for  raising  it  at  this 
time  was  his  knowledge  of  the  existence  of  dishonest  habits  and  un- 
reasonable prejudices  which,  as  a  leading  citizen,  he  ought  to  be  one 
of  the  last  to  encourage.  Violent  as  the  presumption  often  is,  and  far 
from  the  very  semblance  of  truth,  it  is  nevertheless  a  presumption 
that  Judges  know  the  laws  ;  and  it  ought  to  be  the  habit  of  attorneys 
and  solicitors,  especially  those  of  experience  and  influence,  to  refrain 
from  raising  questions,  a  moment's  entertainment  of  which  by  any 
Court  is  sufficient  to  deprive  it  of  the  respect  of  all  men.  But  it  has 
remained  for  this  day  to  witness  that  the  highest  Court  in  one  of  the 
sovereign  States  of  this  Confederacy  shall  be  insulted  in  its  dignity 
and  majesty  by  a  course  of  conduct  which  seems  to  have  been  design- 
edly pursued  in  order  to  test  the  sanity  of  that  Court's  presiding  officer. 
Assuredly  to  no  other  mind  than  to  that  of  the  counsel  had  it  been 
possible  to  fail  to  occur,  that  an  in-ignificant  advantage  in  a  suit  at 
law  was  scarcely  worth  the  having  when  it  was  to  be  gained  in  a  way 
which,  to  say  nothing  of  its  influence  upon  his  client,  would  establish 
either  the  stultification  of  the  Court,  or  "  (and  he  looked  fixedly  and 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  69 

fearlessly  into  the  Judge's  face)  "  raise  the  suspicion  of  a  yet  greater 
infirmity.  Even  if  he  should  consider  himself  as  so  great  a  friend  to 
the  Court,  whether  from  past  favors  or  present  adulation,  or  from  any 
other  cause,  as  to  think  himself  entitled  to  the  exalted  privilege  of 
being  its  favorite,  one  would  have  supposed  that,  if  for  no  other 
reason,  at  least  from  motives  of  prudence  and  decency,  he  would  have 
confined  his  conduct  within  that  sphere  where  there  would  have  been 
left  at  least  a  doubt  as  to  what  judgment  that  conduct  ought  to  receive. 
It  is  a  duty  which  we  owe  even  to  our  private  friends  not  to  demand 
a  service  of  which  there  can  be  found  no  reason  but  friendship  to 
justify  the  rendering,  while  every  other  reason  but  friendship  would 
demand  its  refusal.  There  are  some  services  which  no  ardor  of 
friendship  is  adequate  to  procure  —  some  indeed  which  a  proper  and 
worthy  friendship  would  be  the  last  to  exact." 

A  large  crowd  had  gathered  into  the  Court-room,  attracted  by  the 
vehemence  of  the  young  lawyer's  declamation.  He  was  an  eloquent 
speaker,  and  his  speech  was  telling  upon  the  bystanders.  He  saw  it, 
and  it  stimulated  hJm  to  continually  increasing  endeavor. 

"There  is  a  vulgar  maxim  that  there  is  nothing  to  be  lost  by  the 
asking  of  favors.  The  counsel  has  long  and  well  learned  how  to 
profit  by  it.  His  successful  experience  in  this  respect,  while  it  reflects 
no  great  honor  upon  his  sincerity,  or  even  upon  his  ingenuity,  pays  a 
consideration  to  the  source  from  which  these  favors  flow,  which  it  is 
impossible  to  be  considered  as  in  the  smallest  degree  respectful.  I 
warn  him  this  day  of  the  necessity  to  beware  how  he  abuses  an  in- 
fluence which  his  every  action  shows  that  he  is  conscious  of  exerting. 

"There  is  a  decorum  which  men,  even  of  the  greatest  ability,  when 
in  the  enjoyment  of  honors,  even  those  the  most  fairly  won,  cannot 
neglect  with  impunity.  Let  him,  then,  especially  beware,  the  success 
of  whose  career  is  mainly  dependent  upon  favor.  For  granting  that 
the  power  which,  strange  as  it  is,  he  may  truly  think  that  he  has  im- 
measurably above  others  succeeded  in  conciliating  and  controlling,  is 
absolute  and  unlimited,  yet  when  it  shall  at  last  of  all  others  become 
convinced  that  such  a  control  is  no  longer  compatible,  not  only  with 
the  appearance  of  respectability,  but  even  with  its  own  security,  and 
shall,  as  it  assuredly  will,  withdraw  from  him  the  favor  in  which  he 
seems  to  live,  and  move,  and  have  his  being,  he  must  then  know  how 
vain  will  be  the  late  pursuit  of  those  other  and  higher  means  of  success 
which  it  has  been  his  constant  habit  to  neglect.     And  even  if  this 


7<5  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

should  come  to  pass,  if  dullness  shall  never  be  able  to  be  conscious 

of  and  to  resist  a  control  which  binds  it  like  the  spell  of  the  charmer, 
surely,  in  a  country  so  free  and  so  humane  in  all  its  institutions  except 
its  Courts  of  Justice,  in  a  country  where  there  are  so  many  good  and 
brave  men  —  men  who  have  been  good  enough  and  brave  enough  to 
resist  and  to  destroy  every  other  form  of  tyranny,  it  is  not  too  much  to 
expect  that  the  time  must  come,  and  come  soon,  when  this  last  form 
must  yield  to  the  necessities  of  an  advancing  civilisation,  and  follow 
the  fate  of  those  which  have  gone  before  it.  Surely,  surely,  it  cannot 
long  remain  that  a  free  people,  who  have  broken  the  last  shackle  of 
political  despotism,  must  continue  to  bow  in  abject  submission  before 
another  which  is  the  more  odious  because  their  own  hands  have 
created  it,  and  because  their  own  hands  may  peaceably  destroy  it." 

Mr.  Mobley  spoke  for  half-an-hour  in  this  strain,  during  many  parts 
of  which,  Mr.  Sandidge,  smiling  as  he  was,  was  rather  piteous  to  be 
seen  ;  and  when  he  spoke  of  the  merits  of  the  plea  itself.  Tommy 
Rickles,  but  that  he  had  the  great  Mr.  Sandidge  for  his  friend,  would 
have  felt  as  if  he  ought  to  be  in  the  Penitentiary. 

In  the  midst  of  this  harangue,  one  of  the  jury,  a  Sanks  and  Sandidge 
man,  rose  up  and  hastily  rushed  out  of  the  box.  Upon  being  caught 
and  brought  back,  he  was  asked  by  the  Judge  why  he  had  left  his  seat. 
The  man,  looking  timidly  at  Mr.  Sanks,  answered  : 

"  Ef  it  mout  please  the  Cote,  I  had  heerd  Mr.  Sandidge  speak  and 
made  up  my  mind,  and  when  that  youngster  was  a  speakin'  I  didn't 
like  the  way  the  argiment  was  a  gwine,  and  my  idees  got  confusid,  and 
so  I  thought  I  better  leave.'' 

The  Judge  sternly  informed  him  that  his  ideas  must  be  controlled 
by  the  Court,  and  that  in  future  he  would  do  well  to  remain  in  the  box. 
Mr.  Sanks  also  gave  him  a  look  which  seemed  to  nail  him  to  his  seat. 

Mr.  Mobley  caught  up  his  Honor  at  this  juncture,  and  had  much  to 
say  about  the  rights  both  of  juries  and  counsel.  Besides,  he  cut  Mr. 
Sanks  without  mercy,  whose  secret  meddling  with  the  jury  he  had 
noticed.  The  Judge,  although  he  saw  that  Mobley  was  quite  superior 
to  what  he  supposed,  yet  felt  that  he  must  do  something  in  order  to 
restrain  him.  Several  times  he  had  been  upon  the  point  of  fining  him  ; 
but  he  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  the  most  favorable  opportunity.  Mr. 
Mobley  called  for  the  Digest  of  the  laws  of  the  State,  and  was  pro- 
ceeding to  read  upon  the  subject  of  Usur}'.  Judge  Mike,  who  had  now 
lost  all  patience,  ordered  him  to  put  down  the  book,  and  declared  that 
he  should  pay  no  regard  to  whatever  he  might  read. 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  It 

The  young  man  shut  the  book  at  once,  and  abandoning  himself  to 

his  rage,  exclaimed :  ,     r         c       nr-  ■ 

"Then  must  the  laws  of  Georgia  lie  prostrate  at  the  feet  ot  a.  JVisz- 
Prius  Judge,  because  there  is  no  higher  tribunal  to  correct  his  follies  or 
restrain  his  audacity ! "  And  lifting  the  book  with  both  hands  high 
above  his  head,  he  brought  it  down  upon  the  clerk's  desk  with  a 
vehemence  which  made  that  official  rise  suddenly  from  his  seat  and 
retreat  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  bar. 

"  Mr.  Sheriff,  arrest  that  man  !  "  roared  Judge  Mike,  and  he  seized 
his  pen  to  make  out  the  order.  Mr.  Sanks  arose  and  approached  the 
counsel.  The  latter  raised  his  left  hand  and  turned  the  palm  towards 
him  with  a  warning  gesture,  when  the  sheriff  hesitated  a  moment  and 
then  retreated  behind  Mr.  Sandidge.  Then  turning  to  the  Judge,  Mr. 
Mobley  said,  almost  in  a  whisper : 

"Behold!"  tt-     t,  • 

The  Judge  paused  in  his  writing  and  looked  at  him.  His  hair 
stood  almost  upright ;  his  color  was  that  of  the  dead  ;  and  lookmg 
alternately  at  the  Judge  and  the  sheriff,  his  eyes  rolled  and  burned  like 
the  chafed  lion's,  as  lifting  his  right  arm  above  his  head,  he  said  : 

"There  are  some  things  which,  in  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  even  a 
Judge  of  the  Superior  Court  and  his  most  servile  minister  would  do 
well  to  hesitate  before  they  attempt  to  perform." 

The  poor  creature  sank  back  in  his  chair,  and  bowed  his  head  m 
the  unutterable  anguish  of  feeling  that  a  mere  boy,  whom  he  had  un- 
justly assaulted,  had  turned  upon  him  and  vanquished  him  in  his  own 

Mr.'  Mobley  sat  down.  His  Honor  had  determined  to  charge  the 
jury  in  favor  of  the  defendant.  For  he  desired  to  uproot  in  his  circuit 
not  only  usury,  but  everything  that  looked  at  all  like  it.  Indeed,  all 
rates  of  interest  in  his  eyes  seemed  criminal,  and  therefore  usurious. 
He  honestly  believed  that  there  was  no  evil  under  the  sun  to  be  com- 
pared with  it.  Some  wag  had  told  him  that  it  was  interest  that  had 
overthrown  the  great  Roman  Empire,  and  that  it  was  once  sold  under 
execution  by  the  sheriff.  So  a  transaction  had  but  to  look  in  the 
slightest  degree  usurious,  and  it  would  have  his  condemnation.  He 
intended  so  to  charge  in  tliis  case ;  but  now  he  was  so  subdued  that 
he  dismissed  the  jury  to  their  room  without  a  word,  and  proceeded 
with  taking  the  rules  usual  at  the  end  of  the  term.  Half-an-hour  after- 
wards, the  jury  having  obtained  leave  to  return  to  the  box,  upon  inquiry 


72  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

as  to  whether  they  had  agreed  upon  a  verdict,  their  foreman,  a  little 
dark  man  wiih  short  straight-up  hair  and  a  sharp  voice,  answered  : 

"  May  it  please  the  Cote,  we  has  not.  We  desires  to  ask  the  Cote 
ef  upon  the  provoso  —  you  mind,  Jedge  —  ef  upon  the  provoso" — 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about  your  provosoes,"  screamed  the 
Judge,  feeling  that  he  must  reassert  himself  after  his  late  defeat; 
"  1  have  no  instructions  to  give  on  your  provosoes.  Go  back  to  your 
room,  and,  mark  me,  I  am  going  to  adjourn  this  Court  at  three  o'clock. 
Mr.  Sanks,  if  this  jury  have  not  agreed  upon  a  verdict  by  that  time, 
do  you  have  ready  a  wagon  and  a  six-horse  team.  Hire  it  at  the  county's 
expense.  If  you  jury  don't  agree  upon  a  verdict  by  that  time,  I'll  have 
you  hauled  around  this  circuit  with  me  until  you  do  agree.  Now  go 
to  your  room." 

The  little  man  dodged,  turned  quickly,  and  pocketing  his  provosoes, 
led  his  followers  back.  But  Mr.  Sanks  spoke  the  truth  when  he  said, 
"There's  two  men  on  that  jury  which  they  knows  me,  and  which  I  also 
likewise  knows  them."  And  so  after  another  hour  both  counsel  agreed 
to  a  mis-trial. 

And  now  the  sun  was  fast  declining.  Unless  the  Court  could  get 
fifteen  or  twenty  miles  on  its  way  home  to-day,  it  would  not  reach  it 
and  see  its  family  by  to-morrow  night.  Business  had  to  be  dispatched 
in  a  hurry,  as  everybody  knew  that  that  Court  was  bent  on  seeing  its 
family  at  all  cost. 

Mr.  Mobley  was  writing  rapidly.  Mr.  Sanks  peeped  over  his 
shoulder,  and  then  went  to  Mr.  Sandidge  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"What  are  you  so  skeerd  about?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

"Yes,  but  I  aint  ready;  and  ah  —  and  also  likewise  I  let  the 
money  go,"  answered  the  sheriff. 

"  How  much  do  you  happen  to  have  about  you  at  this  particlar  time  ?  " 

"  Twenty  dollars." 

"  Hand  'em  to  me.     That'll  do.     Don't  you  see  he's  bent  on  home  ? " 

The  last  docket  was  cleared,  the  juries  discharged,  and  the  Judge 
took  out  his  watch. 

"  May  it  please  your  Honor,"  said  Mr.  Mobley,  "  I  desire  to  take  a 
rule  against  the  sheriff." 

"  Will  it  be  resisted  t  "  asked  the  Judge,  with  a  sullen  look. 

"It  will,  may  it  please  your  Honor,"  blandly  but  firmly  answered 
Mr.  Sandidge. 

"  Mr.  Sheriff,  go  to  my  office  and  get  me  the  Acts  of  the  last  Legis- 


JUDGE  MIKE'S  COURT.  73 

lature.  Bring  those  of  the  two  last,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Sheriff;  I  dis- 
remember  which  it  is  that  contains  the  law  I  wish  to  refer  to.  I  ask 
the  indulgence  of  the  Court  for  a  few,  only  a  very  {g:^  minutes,  until  I 
can  make  out  the  showing,"  and  Mr.  Sandidge  looked  as  if  he  would 
indeed  like  to  be  in  a  hurry,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible. 

"  Will  there  be  any  other  rules  ?  "  asked  the  Judge. 

"  I  have  several,"  Mr.  Sandidge  answered.  "  But  unless  your  Honor 
could  hold  over  until  to-morrow,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  postpone  them 
until  the  next  term,  as  this  rule  will  take  up  all,  or  pretty  much  all  of 
the  balance  of  to-day  —  leastways,  probably" — 

Mr.  Mobley,  knowing  his  adversary's  intention,  rose  and  exclaimed  : 

"  It  is  a  most  base  subterfuge  with  both  client  and  counsel !  Within 
my  certain  knowledge  this  money  was  collected  more  than  a  month 
ago.    I  think  that  knave  has  had  indulgence  enough  for  his  rascalities." 

The  sheriff  was  going  slowly  towards  the  door,  and  was  looking 
back  beseechingly  to  the  Judge. 

"  Come  back  here,  sir  !  "  cried  the  latter,  rising  in  his  chair.  "  This 
Court  has  got  powers  ;  it  has  got  rights  ;  it  may  be  insulted,  but  it 
has  got  privileges.  Mr.  Sheriff,  adjourn  this  Court  till  the  Court  in 
course ! " 

"I  protest  against  this  disgraceful" — began  Mr.  Mobley;  but  the 
sherifT  was  shrieking  the  announcement  at  the  door  ;  and  as  his  Honor, 
pale  and  haggard,  rushed  rapidly  past  him,  "  God  save  the  State  !  "  he 
cried  in  thankful  glee,  "  and  the  onerble  Cote."  Mr.  Mobley  was  too 
full  of  indignation  to  trust  himself  with  many  words. 

"You  two,  and  he,  form  a  beautiful  trio  in  the  dispensation  of 
human  justice,"  he  said  bitterly  to  the  lawyer  and  the  sheriff  "It 
was  well  that  you"  (to  Mr.  Sanks)  "kept  your  dirty  hands  off  me  to- 
day. As  for  you,  Sandidge,  mark  me,  your  day  is  passing ;  mine  is 
coming  ;  ay,  it  is  already  here  !  " 

"  I  think  he'll  have  to  wait  for  his  big  Cote,  eh,  Mr.  Sandidge } "  Mr. 
Sanks  remarked  as  Mobley  left.  Mr.  Sandidge  made  no  answer, 
but  taking  a  big  chew,  smiled  seriously.  In  twenty  minutes  from  that 
time,  the  two  rascals  compelled  the  plaintiff  in  execution  who  had 
sought  the  rule  to  settle  his  debt  by  taking  off  twenty  per  cent.,  and 
deducting  also  the  twenty  dollars  paid  Mr.  Sandidge  for  his  fee ; 
"  which  war  but  jestice,"  claimed  Mr.  Sanks,  "  because,  and  so  forth, 
and  also  likewise  because  of  them  disgraceful  proceedances." 

"  Rather  lively  times  in  Court  to-day,"  said  the  young  lawyer  to 
Overton,  after  they  had  reached  the  former's  office. 
10 


74  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  Surely  such  scenes  must  happen  seldom  ?  " 

"  Exactly,  such  do  happen  seldom  indeed  ;  but  something  like  them 
occurs  often." 

"  In  all  the  circuits?" 

"  No,  thank  Heaven  !  We  do  have  some  Judges  who  are  neither 
fools  nor  rascals.  Indeed,  we  have  some  who  are  eminently  able  and 
honest.  Our  judiciary  system  is  the  best  in  the  world,  I  believe, 
except  that  it  has  no  Court  of  Appeals  —  in  fact,  no  head.  When,  there- 
fore, a  fellow  like  Mike  gets  upon  the  Bench,  there  is  no  counting  what 
folly  or  what  rascality  he  may  commit.  The  miserable  creature  used 
to  crowd  me  until  I  felt  that  1  must  resist,  or  become  as  vile  as  a 
collared  slave.     He  knows  now,  I  think,  that  I  am  not  afraid  of  him." 

"  He  is  now  evidently  afraid  of  you." 

"  I  do  not  know  as  to  that."  Mr.  Mobley  brushed  the  hair  from  his 
forehead,  and  looked  as  if  he  did  know  as  to  that. 

"Well,  well,"  he  continued,  "let  it  be  so,  if  it  be  so.  For  humili- 
ating as  it  is  to  a  gentleman's  sense  of  propriety  and  decency,  he  must 
either  become  a  favorite  of  the  Court  or  make  the  Court  afraid  of 
him.  Between  the  two,  unhappy  as  is  the  choice  of  either,  he  cannot 
hesitate." 

The  student  made  no  answer,  but  parting  from  him,  ordered  his 
horse,  and  rode  slowly  back  to  Mr.  Parkinson's. 

And  now  as  I  look  back  to  the  scenes  of  this  week,  they  seem  long, 
oh  !  so  long  ago. 


HOW  MR.  BILL    WILLIAMS    TOOK   THE 
RESPONSIBILITY. 


"  Our  honor  teacheth  us 
That  we  be  bold  in  every  enterprise." 


CHAPTER  I. 

WHEN  Josiah  Lorriby  came  into  our  neighborhood  to  keep  a 
school  I  was  too  young  to  go  to  it  alone.  Having  no  older 
brother  or  sister  to  go  along  with  me,  my  parents,  although  they  were 
desirous  for  me  to  begin,  were  about  to  give  it  up,  when  fortunately  it 
was  ascertained  that  William  Williams,  a  big  fellow  whose  widowed 
mother  resided  near  to  us,  intended  to  go  for  one  term  and  complete 
his  education  preparatory  to  being  better  fitted  for  an  object  of  vast 
ambition  which  he  had  in  view.  His  way  lay  by  our  door,  and  as  he 
was  one  of  the  most  accommodating  persons  in  the  world,  he  proffered 
to  take  charge  of  me.  Without  hesitation  and  with  much  gratitude 
this  was  accepted,  and  I  was  delivered  over  into  his  keeping. 

William  Williams  was  so  near  being  a  man  that  the  little  boys  used 
to  call  him  Mr.  Bill.  I  never  can  forget  the  stout  homespun  dress- 
coat  which  he  used  to  wear,  with  the  big  pockets  opening  horizontally 
across  the  outer  side  of  the  skirts.  Many  a  time,  when  I  was  fatigued 
by  walking  or  the  road  was  wet  with  rains,  have  I  ridden  upon  his 
back,  my  hands  resting  upon  his  shoulders  and  my  feet  standing  in 
those  capacious  pockets.  Persons  who  have  never  tried  that  way  of 
travelling  have  no  just  idea,  I  will  venture  to  sa}^,  how  sweet  it  is. 
Mr.  Bill  had  promised  to  take  care  of  me,  and  he  kept  his  word. 


76  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

On  the  first  mornino;  when  the  school  was  opened,  we  went  together 
to  it.  About  one  mile  and  a  half  distant  stood  the  school-house. 
Eighteen  by  twenty  feet  were  its  dimensions.  It  was  built  of  logs  and 
covered  with  clap-boards.  It  had  one  door,  and  opposite  to  that  a 
hole  in  the  wall  two  feet  square,  which  was  called  the  window.  It 
stood  in  the  corner  of  one  of  our  fields  (having  formerly  been  used  as 
a  fodder-house),  and  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  at  the  foot  of  which,  over- 
shadowed by  oak  trees,  was  a  noble  spring  of  fresh  water.  Our  way 
led  us  by  this  spring.  Just  as  we  reached  it,  Mr.  Bill  pointed  to  the 
summit  and  said: 

"Yonder  it  is.  Squire." 

Mr.  Bill  frequently  called  me  Squire,  partly  from  mere  facetious- 
ness,  and  partly  from  his  respect  for  my  father,  who  was  a  Justice  of 
the  Peace. 

I  did  not  answer.  We  ascended  the  hill,  and  Mr.  Bill  led  me  into 
the  presence  of  the  genius  of  the  place. 

Mr.  Josiah  Lorriby  was  a  remarkable  man,  at  least  in  appearance. 
He  was  below  the  middle  height,  but  squarely  built.  His  body  was 
good  enough,  but  his  other  parts  were  defective.  He  h^d  a  low  flat 
head,  with  very  short  hair  and  very  long  ears.  His  arms  were  reason- 
ably long,  but  his  hands  and  legs  were  disproportionately  short.  Many 
tales  were  told  of  his  feet,  on  which  he  wore  shoes  with  iron  soles.  He 
was  sitting  on  a  split-bottom  chair,  on  one  side  of  the  fire-place. 
Under  him,  with  his  head  peering  out  between  the  rounds,  sitting  on 
his  hind  legs  and  standing  on  his  fore  legs,  was  a  small  yellow  dog, 
without  tail  or  ears.  This  dog's  name  was  Rum.  On  the  side  of  the 
hearth,  in  another  split-bottom,  sat  a  tall  raw-boned  woman  with  the 
reddest  eyes  that  I  have  ever  seen.  This  was  Mrs.  Mehitable,  Mr. 
Lorriby's  wife.  She  had  ridden  to  the  school  on  a  small  aged  mare, 
perfectly  white  and  totally  blind.     Her  name  was  Kate. 

When  I  had  surveyed  these  four  personages, —  this  satyr  of  a  man, 
this  tailless  dog,  this  red-eyed  woman,  and  this  blind  old  mare,  a  sense  of 
fear  and  helplessness  came  over  me,  such  as  I  had  never  felt  before,  and 
have  never  felt  since.  I  looked  at  Mr.  Bill  Williams,  but  he  was 
observing  somebody  else,  and  did  not  notice  me.  The  other  pupils, 
eighteen  or  twenty  in  number,  seemed  to  be  in  deep  meditation.  My 
eyes  passed  from  one  to  another  of  the  objects  of  my  dread  ;  but  they 
became  finally  fastened  upon  the  dog.  His  eyes  also  had  wandered, 
but  only  with  vague  curiosity,  around  upon  all  the  pupils,  until  they 


How  Mr.  Bill  Williams  took  the  Responsibility.  77 

became  fixed  upon  me.  We  gazed  at  each  other  several  moments. 
Though  he  sat  still,  and  I  sat  still,  it  seemed  to  me  that  we  were 
drawing  continually  nearer  to  each  other.  Suddenly  I  lifted  up  my 
voice  and  screamed  with  all  my  might.  It  was  so  sudden  and  sharp 
that  everybody  except  the  woman  jumped.  She  indifferently  pointed 
to  the  dog.  Her  husband  arose,  came  to  me,  and  in  soothing  tones 
asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  I  am  scared  ! "  I  answered,  as  loud  as  I  could  speak. 

"Scared  of  what,  my  little  man.?  of  the  dog?" 

"  I  am  scared  of  all  of  you  !  " 

He  laughed  with  good  humor,  bade  me  not  be  afraid,  called  up  Rum, 
talked  to  us  both,  enjoined  upon  us  to  be  friends,  and  prophesied  that 
we  would  be  such  —  the  best  that  had  ever  been  in  the  world.  The 
little  creature  became  cordial  at  once,  reared  his  fore  feet  upon  his 
master,  took  them  down,  reared  them  upon  me,  and  in  the  absence  of 
a  tail  to  wag,  twisted  his  whole  hinder-parts  in  most  violent  assurance 
that  if  I  should  say  the  word  we  were  friends  already.  Such  kindness, 
and  so  unexpected,  dissolved  my  apprehensions.  I  was  in  a  condition 
to  accept  terms  far  less  liberal.  So  I  acceded,  and  went  to  laughing 
outright.  Everybody  laughed,  and  Rum,  who  could  do  nothing  better 
in  that  line,  ran  about  and  barked  as  joyously  as  any  dog  with  a  tail 
could  have  done.  In  the  afternoon  when  school  was  dismissed,  I 
invited  Rum  to  go  home  with  me ;  but  he,  waiting  as  I  supposed  for  a 
more  intimate  acquaintance,  declined. 


CHAPTER  II. 

It  was  delightful  to  consider  how  auspicious  a  beginning  I  had  made. 
Other  little  boys  profited  by  it.  Mr.  Lorriby  had  no  desire  to  lose 
any  of  his  scholars,  and  we  all  were  disposed  to  take  as  much  advan- 
tage as  possible  of  his  apprehension,  however  unfounded,  that  on 
account  of  our  excessive  timidity  our  parents  might  remove  us  from 
the  school.  Besides,  we  knew  that  we  were  to  lose  nothing  by  being 
on  friendly  terms  with  Rum.  The  dread  of  the  teacher's  wife  soon 
passed  away.  She  had  but  little  to  say,  and  less  to  do.  Nobody  had 
any  notion  of  any  reason  which  she  had  for  coming  to  the  school.  At 
first  she  occasionally  heard  a  spelling-class  recite.     After  a  little  time 


78  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

she  began  to  come  much  less  often,  and  in  a  ^z'fi  weeks  her  visits  had 
decreased  to  one  in  several  days.  Mrs.  Lorriby  seemed  a  very  proud 
woman  ;  for  she  not  only  had  little  to  say  to  anybody,  but  although 
she  resided  only  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  school-house,  she  never 
walked,  but  invariably  rode  old  Kate.  These  were  small  things,  yet 
we  noticed  them. 

Mr.  Lorriby  was  not  of  the  sort  of  schoolmasters  whom  men  use 
to  denominate  by  the  title  of  knockdown  and  drag  out.  He  was  not 
such  a  man  as  Israel  Meadows.  But  although  he  was  good-hearted 
enough,  he  was  somewhat  politic  also.  Being  a  newcomer,  and  being 
poor,  he  determined  to  manage  his  business  with  due  regard  to  the 
tastes,  the  wishes,  and  the  prejudices  of  the  community  in  which  he 
labored.  He  decidedly  preferred  a  mild  reign  ;  but  it  was  said  he 
could  easily  accommodate  himself  to  those  who  required  a  more 
vigorous  policy.  He  soon  learned  that  the  latter  was  the  favorite 
here.  People  complained  that  there  was  little  or  no  whipping.  Some 
who  had  read  the  fable  of  the  frogs  who  desired  a  sovereign,  were 
heard  to  declare  that  Josiah  Lorriby  was  no  better  than  "Old  King 
Log."  One  patron  spoke  of  taking  his  children  home,  placing  the  boy 
at  the  plough  and  the  girl  at  the  spinning-wheel. 

Persons  in  those  days  loved  their  children,  doubtless,  as  well  as 
now ;  but  they  had  some  strange  ways  of  showing  their  love.  The 
strangest  of  all  was  the  evident  gratification  which  the  former  felt 
when  the  latter  were  whipped  at  school.  While  they  all  had  a  notion 
that  education  was  something  which  it  was  desirable  to  get,  it  was 
believed  that  the  impartation  of  it  needed  to  be  conducted  in  most 
mysterious  ways.  The  school-house  of  that  day  was,  in  a  manner,  a 
cave  of  Trophonius,  into  which  urchins  of  both  sexes  entered  amid 
certain  incomprehensible  ceremonies,  and  were  everlastingly  subject 
and  used  to  be  whirled  about,  body  and  soul,  in  a  vortex  of  confusion. 
I  might  pursue  the  analogy  and  say  that,  like  the  votaries  of  Tro- 
phonius, they  were  not  wont  to  smile  until  long  after  this  violent  and 
rotatory  indoctrination  ;  but  rather  to  weep  and  lament,  unless  they 
were  brave  like  Apollonius,  or  big  like  Allen  Thigpen,  and  so  could 
bully  the  priest  far  enough  to  have  the  bodily  rotation  dispensed  with. 
According  to  these  notions,  the  principles  of  the  education  of  books 
were  not  to  be  addressed  to  the  mind  and  to  the  heart ;  but,  if  they 
were  expected  to  stick,  they  must  be  beaten  with  rods  into  the  back. 
Through  this  ordeal  of  painful  ceremonies  had  the  risen  generation 


How  Mr.  Bill  Williams  took  the  Responsibility.  79 

gone,  and  through  the  same  ordeal  they  honestly  believed  that  the 
present  generation  ought  to  go,  and  must  go.  No  exception  was  made 
in  favor  of  genius.  Its  back  was  to  be  kept  as  sore  as  stupidity's  ; 
for,  being  yoked  with  the  latter,  it  must  take  the  blows,  the  oaths,  and 
the  imprecations.  I  can  account  for  these  things  in  no  other  way  than 
by  supposing  that  the  old  set  of  persons  had  come  out  of  the  old  system 
with  minds  so  bewildered  as  to  be  ever^^a^fterwards  incapable  of 
thinking  upon  it  in  a  reasonable  manner.  In  one  respect  there  is 
a  considerable  likeness  between  mankind  nlid  some  individuals  of 
the  brute  creation.  The  dog  seems  to  love  best  that  master  who 
beats  him  before  giving  him  a  bone,  I  have  heard  persons  say  (those 
who  had  carefully  studied  the  nature  and  habits  of  that  animal)  that 
the  mule  is  wont  to  evince  a  gratitude  somewhat  touching  when  a 
bundle  of  fodder  is  thrown  to  him  at  the  close  of  a  day  on  which  he 
has-been  driven  within  an  inch  of  his  life.  So  with  the  good  people 
of  former  times?!  They  had  been  beaten  so  constantly  and  so  myste- 
riously at  school,  that  they  seemed  to  entertain  a  grateful  affection  for 
it  ever  afterwards.  It  was,  therefore,  with  feelings  of  benign  satisfac- 
tion, sometimes  not  unmixed  with  an  innocent  gaiety  of  mind,  that  they 
were  wont  to  listen  to  their  children  when  they  complained  of  the 
thrashings  they  daily  received,  some  of  which  would  be  wholly  unac- 
countable. Indeed  the  latter  sort  seemed  to  be  considered,  of  all 
others,  the  most  salutary.  When  the  punishment  was  graduated  by 
the  offence,  it  was  supporting  too  great  a  likeness  to  the  affairs  of 
every  day  life,  and  therefore  wanting  in  solemn  impressiveness.  But 
when  a  schoolmaster  for  no  accountable  reason  whipped  a  boy,  and 
so  set  his  mind  in  a  state  of  utter  bewilderment  as  to  what  could  be 
the  matter,  and  the  most  vague  speculations  upon  what  was  to  become 
of  him  in  this  world,  to  say  nothing  of  the  next,  ah  !  then  it  was  that 
the  experienced  felt  a  happiness  that  was  gently  ecstatic.  They 
recurred  in  their  minds  to  their  own  school  time,  and  they  concluded 
that,  as  these  things  had  not  killed  them,  they  must  have  done  them 
good.  So  some  of  our  good  mothers  in  Israel,  on  occasions  of  great 
religious  excitement,  as  they  bend  over  a  shrieking  sinner,  smile  in 
serene  happiness  as  they  f'^.n  his  throbbing  temples,  and  fondly  encour- 
age him  to  shriek  on  ;  thinking  of  the  pit  from  which  they  were  digged, 
and  of  the  rock  upon  which  they  now  are  standing,  they  shout,  and 
sing,  and  fan,  and  fanning  ever,  continue  to  sing  and  shout. 


8o  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 


CHAPTER  III. 


When  Mr.  Lorriby  had  sounded  the  depths  of  public  sentiment, 
he  became  a  new  man.  One  Monday  morning  he  announced  that 
he  was  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  he  went  straightway  to 
turning  it  over.  Before  night  several  boys,  from  small  to  medium,  had 
been  flogged.  He  had  not  begun  on  the  girls,  except  in  one  instance. 
In  that  I  well  remember  the  surprise  I  felt  at  the  manner  in  which  her 
case  was  disposed  of.  Her  name  was  Susan  Potter.  She  was  about 
twelve  years  old,  and  well  grown.  When  she  was  called  up,  inquiry 
was  made  by  the  master  if  any  boy  present  was  willing  to  take  upon 
himself  the  punishment  which  must  otherwise  fall  upon  her.  After  a 
moment's  silence.  Seaborn  Byne,  a  boy  of  fourteen,  rose  and  presented 
himself.  He  was  good-tempered  and  fat,  and  his  pants  and  round 
jacket  fitted  him  closely.  He  advanced  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
was  going  to  do  what  was  right,  with  no  thought  of  consequences. 
Miss  Potter  unconcernedly  went  to  her  seat. 

But  Seaborn  soon  evinced  that  he  was  dissatisfied  with  a  bargain 
that  was  so  wholly  without  consideration.  I  believed  then,  and  I 
believe  to  this  day^that  but  for  his  being  so  good  a  mark  he  would 
have  received  fewer  stripes.  But  his  round  fat  body  and  legs  stood 
so  temptingly  before  the  rod,  and  the  latter  fell  upon  good  flesh  so 
entirely  through  its  whole  length,  that  it  was  really  hard  to  stop.  He 
roared  with  pain  so  unexpectedly  severe,  and  violently  rubbed  each 
spot  of  recent  infliction.  When  it  was  over,  he  came  to  his  seat  and 
looked  at  Susan  Potter.  She  seemed  to  feel  like  laughing.  Seaborn 
got  no  sympathy,  except  from  a  source  which  he  despised;  that  was 
his  younger  brother,  Joel.     Joel  was  weeping  in  secret. 

"  Shut  up  your  mouth,"  whispered  Seaborn,  threateningly,  and  Joel 
shut  up. 

Then  I  distinctly  heard  Seaborn  mutter  the  following  words: 

"  Ef  I  ever  takes  another  for  her,  or  any  of  'em,  may  I  be  dinged, 
and  then  dug  up  and  dinged  over  again." 

I  have  no  doubt  that  he  kept  his  oath,  for  I  continued  to  know 
Seaborn  Byne  until  he  was  an  old  man,  and  I  never  knew  a  person 
who  persistently  held  that  vicarious  system  of  school  punishment  in 
deeper  disgust.  What  his  ideas  were  about  being  "  dinged,"  and  about 
that  operation  being  repeated,  I  did  not  know  j  but  I  supposed  it  was 
something  that,  if  possible,  would  better  be  avoided. 


How  Mr.  Bill  Williams  took  the  Responsibility.  8i 

Such  doings  as  these  made  a  great  change  in  the  feelings  of  us 
little  ones.  Yet  I  continued  to  run  the  crying  schedule.  It  failed  at 
last,  and  I  went  under. 

Mr.  Lorriby  laid  it  upon  me  remorselessly.  I  had  never  dreamed 
that  he  would  give  me  such  a  flogging  —  I  who  considered  myself, 
as  everybody  else  considered  me,  a  favorite.  Now  the  charm  was 
gone  ;  the  charm  of  security.  It  made  me  very  sad,  I  lost  my  love 
for  the  teacher.  I  even  grew  cold  towards  Rum,  and  Rum  in  his  turn 
grew  cold  towards  me.  Not  that  we  got  into  open  hostilities.  For 
saving  an  occasional  fretfulness,  Rum  was  a  good  fellow  and  personally 
I  had  liked  him.  But  then  he  was  from  principle  a  thorough  Lorriby, 
and  therefore  our  intimacy  must  stop,  and  did  stop. 

In  a  short  time  Mr.  Lorriby  had  gone  as  nearly  all  round  the  school 
as  it  was  prudent  to  go.  Every  boy  but  two  had  received  his  portion, 
some  once,  some  several  times.  These  two  were  Mr.  Bill  Williams, 
and  another  big  boy  named  Jeremiah  Hobbes.  These  were,  of  course, 
as  secure  against  harm  from  Mr.  Lorriby  as  they  would  have  been  had  ' 
he  been  in  Guinea.  Every  girl  also  had  been  flogged,  or  had  had  a 
boy  flogged  for  her,  except  Betsy  Ann  Aery,  the  belle  of  the  school. 
She  was  a  light-haired,  blue-eyed,  plump,  delicious-looking  girl,  fourteen 
years  old.  Now  for  Miss  Betsy  Ann  Aery,  as  it  was  known  to  every- 
body about  the  school-house,  Mr.  Bill  Williams  had  a  partiality  which, 
though  not  avowed,  was  decided.  He  had  never  courted  her  in  set 
words,  but  he  had  observed  her  from  day  to  day,  and  noticed  her 
ripening  into  womanhood  with  constantly  increasing  admiration.  He 
was  scarcely  a  match  for  her  even  if  they  both  had  been  in  condition  to 
marry.  He  knew  this  very  well.  But  considerations  of  this  sort 
seldom  do  a  young  man  any  good.  More  often  than  otherwise  they 
make  him  worse.  At  least  such  was  their  effect  upon  Mr.  Bill.  The 
greater  the  distance  between  him  and  Miss  Betsy  Ann,  the  more  he 
yearned  across  it.  He  sat  in  school  where  he  could  always  see  her, 
and  oh,  how  he  eyed  her !  Often,  often  have  I  noticed  Mr.  Bill,  lean- 
ing the  side  of  his  head  upon  his  arms,  extended  on  the  desk  in  front 
of  him,  and  looking  at  her  with  a  countenance  which,  it  seemed  to  me, 
ought  to  make  some  impression.  Betsy  Ann  received  it  all  as  if  it  was 
no  more  than  she  was  entitled  to,  but  showed  no  sign  whether  she  set 
any  value  upon  the  possession  or  not.  Mr.  Bill  hoped  she  did ;  the 
rest  of  us  believed  she  did  not. 

Mr.  Bill  had  another  ambition,  which  was,  if  possible,  even  higher 


82  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

than  the  winning  of  Miss  Aery.  Having  almost  extravagant  notions 
of  the  greatness  of  Dukesborough,  and  the  distinction  of  being  a 
resident  within  it,  he  had  long  desired  to  go  there  as  a  clerk  in  a  store. 
He  had  made  repeated  applications  to  be  taken  in  by  Messrs.  Bland 
&  Jones,  and  it  was  in  obedience  to  a  hint  from  these  gentlemen  that 
he  had  determined  to  take  a  term  of  finishing  off  at  the  school  of  Mr. 
Lorriby.  This  project  was  never  out  of  his  mind,  even  in  moments  of 
his  fondest  imaginings  about  Miss  Betsy  Ann.  It  would  have  been  not 
easy  to  say  which  he  loved  the  best.  The  clerkship  seemed  to  become 
nearer  and  nearer  after  each  Saturday's  visit  to  town,  until  at  last  he 
had  a  distinct  offer  of  the  place.  The  salary  was  small,  but  he  waived 
that  consideration  in  view  of  the  exaltation  of  the  office  and  the  great- 
ness of  living  in  Dukesborough.  He  accepted,  to  enter  upon  his 
duties  in  four  weeks,  when  the  quarter  session  of  the  school  would 
expire. 

The  dignified  ways  of  Mr,  Bill  after  this  made  considerable  impres- 
sion upon  all  the  school.  Even  Betsy  Ann  condescended  to  turn  her 
eyes  oftener  in  the  direction  where  he  happened  to  be,  and  he  was 
almost  inclined  to  glory  in  the  hope  that  the  possession  of  one  dear 
object  would  draw  the  other  along  with  it.  At  least  he  felt  that  if  he 
should  lose  the  latter,  the  former  would  be  the  highest  consolation 
which  he  could  ask.  The  news  of  the  distinguished  honor  that  had 
been  conferred  upon  him  reached  the  heads  of  the  school  early  on  the 
Monday  following  the  eventful  Saturday  when  the  business  was  done. 
I  say  heads,  for  of  late  Mrs.  Mehitable  and  old  Kate  came  almost 
every  day.  Mrs.  Lorriby  received  the  announcement  without  emotion. 
Mr.  Lorriby,  on  the  other  hand,  in  spite  of  the  prospect  of  losing  a 
scholar,  was  almost  extravagant  in  his  congratulations. 

"  It  was  a  honor  to  the  whole  school,"  he  said.  "  I  feels,  it  myself. 
Sich  it  war  under  all  the  circumstances.  It  was  oblee§e3^o  be,  and 
sich  it  war,  and  as  it  war  sich,  I  feels  it  myself" 

Seaborn  Byne  heard  this  speech.  Immediately  afterwards  he  turned 
to  me  and  whispered  the  following  comment : 

*'  He  be  dinged  !  the  decateful  old  son-of-a-gun  ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 
It  was  the  unanimous  opinion  amongst  Mr.  Lorriby's  pupils  that  he  was 


How  Mr,  Bill  Williams  took  the  Responsibility.  83 

grossly  inconsistent  with  himself:  that  he  ought  to  have  begun  with  the 
rigid  policy  at  first,  or  have  held  to  the  mild.  Having  once  enjoyed 
the  sweets  of  the  latter,  thoughts  would  occasionally  rise  and  questions 
would  be  asked.  Seaborn  Byne  was  not  exactly  the  head,  but  he  was 
certainly  the  orator  of  a  revolutionary  party.  Not  on  his  own  account ; 
for  he  had  never  yet,  except  as  the  voluntary  substitute  of  Miss  Susan 
Potter,  felt  upon  his  own  body  the  effects  of  the  change  of  discipline. 
Nor  did  he  seem  to  have  any  apprehensions  on  that  score.  He  even 
went  so  far  as  to  say  to  Mr.  Bill  Williams,  who  had  playfully  suggested 
the  bare  idea  of  such  a  thing,  that  "  ef  old  Jo  Lorriby  raised  his  old 
pole  on  him,  he  would  put  his  lizzard  "  (as  Seaborn  facetiously  called 
his  knife)  "  into  his  paunch."  He  always  carried  a  very  big  knife,  with 
which  he  would  frequently  stab  imaginary  Lorribys  in  the  persons  of 
saplings  and  pumpkins,  and  even  the  air  itself.  This  threat  had  made 
his  brother  Joel  extremely  unhappy.  His  little  heart  was  bowed  down 
with  the  never-resting  fear  and  belief  that  Seaborn  was  destined  to 
commit  the  crime  of  murder  upon  the  body  of  Mr.  Lorriby.  On  the 
other  hand  Seaborn  was  constantly  vexed  by  the  sight  of  the  scores  of 
floggings  which  Joel  received.  Poor  Joel  had  somehow  in  the  begin- 
ning of  his  studies  gotten  upon  the  wrong  road,  and  as  nobody  ever 
brought  him  back  to  the  starting  point,  he  was  destined,  it  seemed,  to 
wander  about  lost  evermore.  The  more  floggings  he  got,  the  more 
hopeless  and  wild  were  his  efforts  at  extrication.  It  was  unfortunate 
for  him  that  his  brother  took  any  interest  in  his  condition.  Seaborn 
had  great  contempt  for  him,  but  yet  he  remembered  that  he  was  his 
brother,  and  his  brother's  heart  would  not  allow  itself  to  feel  no  concern. 
That  concern  manifested  itself  in  endeavoring  to  teach  Joel  himself  out 
of  school,  and  in  flogging  him  himself  by  way  of  preventing  Joel's 
having  to  submit  to  that  disgrace  at  the  hands  of  old  Joe.  So  eager 
was  Seaborn  in  this  brotherly  design,  and  so  indocile  was  Joel,  that  for 
every  flogging  which  the  latter  received  from  the  master  he  got  from 
two  to  three  from  Seaborn. 

However,  the  inflictions  which  Seaborn  made,  strictly  speaking, 
could  not  be  called  floggings.  Joel,  among  his  other  infirmities,  had 
that  of  being  unable  to  take  care  of  his  spelling-books.  He  had  torn 
to  pieces  so  many  that  his  mother  had  obtained  a  paddle  and  pasted 
on  both  sides  of  it  as  many  words  as  could  be  crowded  there.  Mrs. 
Byne,  who  was  a  woman  of  decision,  had  been  heard  to  say  that  she 
meant  to  head  him  at  this  destructive  business,  and  now  she  believed 


84  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

that  she  had  done  it.  But  this  instrument  was  made  to  subserve  a 
double  purpose  with  Joel.  It  was  at  once  the  object,  and  in  his 
brother's  hands  was  the  stimulus,  of  his  little  ambition.  Among  all 
these  evils,  floggings  from  Mr.  Lorriby  and  paddlings  from  Seaborn, 
and  the  abiding  apprehension  that  the  former  was  destined  to  be 
murdered  by  the  latter,  Joel  Byne's  was  a  case  to  be  pitied. 

"It  ar  a  disgrace,"  said  Mr.  Bill  to  me  one  morning  as  we  were  going 
to  school,  "  and  I  wish  Mr.  Larrabee  knowed  it.  Between  him  and 
Sebe,  that  little  innocent  individiel  ar  bent  on  bein'  useded  up  boda- 
ciously.  Whippins  from  Mr.  Larrabee  and  paddlins  from  Sebe  !  The 
case  ar  wusser  than  ef  thar  was  two  Larrabees.  That  ar  the  ontime- 
liest  paddle  that  ever  /seen.  He  have  to  try  to  larn  his  paddle,  and 
when  he  can't  larn  it,  Sebe,  he  take  his  paddle,  fling  down  Joel,  and 
paddle  him  with  his  paddle.  In  all  my  experence,  I  has  not  seed  jest 
sich  a  case.     It  ar  beyant  hope." 

Mr.  Bill's  sympathy  made  him  serious,  and  indeed  gloomy.  The 
road  on  which  the  Bynes  came  to  school  met  ours  a  few  rods  from  the 
spring.  We  were  now  there,  and  Mr.  Bill  had  scarcely  finished  this 
speech  when  we  heard  behind  us  the  screams  of  a  child, 

"  Thar  it  is  agin,"  said  Mr.  Bill.  "  At  it  good  and  soon.  It  do 
beat  everything  in  this  blessed  and  ontimely  world.  Ef  it  don't,  ding 
me!" 

We  looked  beind  us.  Here  came  Joel  at  full  speed,  screaming  with 
all  his  might,  hatless,  with  his  paddle  in  one  hand  and  his  dinner- 
bucket,  without  cover,  hanging  from  the  other.  Twenty  yards  behind 
him  ran  Seaborn,  who  had  been  delayed  by  having  to  stop  in  order  to 
pick  up  Joel's  hat  and  the  bucket-cover.  Just  before  reaching  the 
spring,  the  fugitive  was  overtaken  and  knocked  down.  Seaborn  then 
getting  upon  him  and  fastening  his  arms  with  his  own  knees,  seized  the 
paddle  and  exclaimed : 

"  Now,  you  rascal !  spell  that  word  agin,  sir.  Ef  you  don't,  I'll 
paddle  you  into  a  pancake.     Spell  '  Crucifix^  sir." 

Joel  attempted  to  obey. 

"  S  agin,  you  little  devil !  S-i,  si!  Ding  my  skin  ef  you  shan't  larn 
it,  or  I'll  paddle  you  as  long  as  thar's  poplars  to  make  paddles  outen." 

And  he  turned  Joel  over  and  made  him  ready. 

"  Look  a  here,  Sebe  !  "  interposed  Mr.  Bill ;  "  fun's  fun,  but  too  much 
is  too  much." 

Now  what  these  words  were  intended  to  be  preliminary  to,  there  was 


How  Mr.  Bill  Williams  took  the  Responsibility.  85 

no  opportunity  of  ascertaining-  for  just  then  Mr.  Josiah  Lorriby,  who 
had  diverged  from  his  own  way  in  order  to  drink  at  the  spring, 
presented  himself. 

"  What  air  you  about  thar,  Sebion  Byne  ?  " 

Seaborn  arose,  and  though  he  considered  his  conduct  not  only  justifi- 
able, but  praiseworthy,  he  looked  a  little  crest-fallen. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  You're  the  assistant  teacher,  air  you  ?  Interfering 
with  my  business,  and  my  rights,  and  viy  duties,  and  my  —  hem !  Let 
us  all  go  to  the  school-house  now.  Mr.  Byne  will  manage  business 
hereafter.  I  —  as  for  me,  I  aint  nowhar  now.  Come,  Mr.  Byne,  le's 
go  to  school." 

Mr.  Lorriby  and  Seaborn  went  on,  side  by  side.  Mr.  Bill  looked  as 
if  he  were  highly  gratified.     "  Ef  he  don't  get  it  now,  he  never  will." 

Alas  for  Joel !  Delivered  from  Seaborn,  he  was  yet  more  miserable 
than  before,  and  he  forgot  his  own  griefs  in  his  pity  for  the  impending 
fate  of  Mr.  Lorriby,  and  his  apprehension  for  the  ultimate  consequence 
of  this  day's  work  to  his  brother.  He  pulled  me  a  little  behind  Mr. 
Bill,  and  tremblingly  whispered  : 

"  Poor  Mr.  Larrabee !     Do  you  reckon  they  will  hang  Seaby,  Phil  ? " 

"What  for.?"  I  asked. 

"  For  killing  Mr.  Larrabee." 

I  answered  that  I  hoped  not. 

"  Oh,  Phil !  Seaby  have  sich  a  big  knife  !  An'  he  have  stob  more 
saplins  !  and  more  punkins  !  and  more  watermillions  !  and  more  mush- 
millions  !  And  he  have  even  stob  our  old  big  yaller  cat !  And  he  have 
call  every  one  of  'em  Larrabee.  And  it's  my  pinion  that  ef  it  warn't  for 
my  paddle,  he  would  a  stob  me  befo'  now.  You  see,  Phil,  paddlin  me 
sorter  cools  and  swages  him  down  a  leetle  bit.  Oh,  Seaby  ar  a  tre- 
menduous  boy,  and  he  ar  goin  to  stob  Mr.  Larrabee  this  blessed  day." 

As  we  neared  the  school-house  we  saw  old  Kate  at  the  usual  stand, 
and  we  knew  that  Mrs.  Lorriby  was  at  hand.  She  met  her  husband 
at  the  door,  and  they  had  some  whispering  together,  of  which  the  case 
of  Seaborn  was  evidently  the  subject.  Joel  begged  me  to  stay  with 
him  butside  until  the  horrible  thing  was  over.  So  we  stopped  and 
peeped  in  between  the  logs.  We  had  not  to  wait  long.  Mr.  Lorriby,  his 
mate  standing  by  his  side,  at  once  began  to  lay  on,  and  Seaborn  roared. 
The  laying  on  and  the  roaring  continued  until  the  master  was  satisfied. 
When  all  was  over,  I  looked  into  Joel's  face.  It  was  radiant  with 
smiles.     I  never  have  seen  greater  happiness  upon  the  countenance  of 


86  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

childhood.  Happy  little  fellow !  Seaborn  would  not  be  hung.  That 
illusion  was  gone  forever.  He  actually  hugged  his  paddle  to  his  breast, 
and  with  a  gait  even  approaching  the  triumphant,  walked  into  the 
house. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Having  broken  the  ice  upon  Seaborn,  Mr.  Lorriby  went  into  the 
sport  of  flogging  him  whenever  he  felt  like  it.  Seaborn's  revolutionary 
sentiments  grew  deeper  and  stronger  constantly.  But  he  was  now,  of 
course,  hopeless  of  accomplishing  any  results  himself,  and  he  knew 
that  the  only  chance  was  to  enlist  Jeremiah  Hobbes,  or  Mr.  Bill 
Williams,  and  make  him  the  leader  in  the  enterprise.  Very  soon, 
however,  one  of  these  chances  was  lost.  Hobbes  received  and  accepted 
an  offer  to  become  an  overseer  on  a  plantation,  and  Seaborn's  hopes 
were  now  fixed  upon  Mr.  Bill  alone.  That  also  was  destined  soon  to  be 
lost  by  the  latter's  prospective  clerkship.  Besides,  Mr.  Bill,  being  even- 
tempered,  and  never  having  received  and  being  never  likely  to  receive 
any  provocation  from  Mr.  Lorriby,  the  prospect  of  making  anything  out 
of  him  was  gloomy  enough.  In  vain  Seaborn  raised  innuendoes  con- 
cerning his  pluck.  In  vain  he  tried  every  other  expedient,  even  to 
secretly  drawing  on  Mr.  Bill's  slate  a  picture  of  a  very  little  man 
flogging  a  very  big  boy,  and  writing  as  well  as  he  could  the  name 
of  Mr.  Lorriby  near  the  former  and  that  of  Mr.  Bill  near  the  latter. 
Seaborn  could  not  disguise  himself;  and  Mr.  Bill  when  he  saw  the 
pictures  informed  the  artist  that  if  he  did  not  mind  what  he  was  about 
he  would  get  a  worse  beating  than  ever  Joe  Larrabee  gave  him. 
Seaborn  had  but  one  hope  left,  but  that  involved  some  little  delicacy, 
and  could  be  managed  only  by  its  own  circumstances.  It  might  do, 
and  it  might  not  do.  If  Seaborn  had  been  accustomed  to  asking 
special  Divine  interpositions,  he  would  have  prayed  that  if  anything 
was  to  be  made  out  of  this,  it  might  be  made  before  Mr.  Bill  should 
leave.  Sure  enough  it  did  come.  Just  one  week  before  the  quarter 
was  out  it  came.  But  I  must  premise  the  narration  of  this  great  event 
with  a  few  words. 

Between  Mrs.  Lorriby  and  Miss  Betsy  Ann  Aery  the  relations  were 
not  very  agreeable.  Among  other  things  which  were  the  cause  of  this 
were  the  unwarrantable  liberties  which  Miss  Aery  sometimes  took  with 


Mow  Mr,  Bill  Williams  took  the  Responsibility.  87 

Kate,  Mrs.  Lorriby's  mare.  Betsy  Ann,  in  spite  of  all  dangers  (not 
the  least  of  which  was  that  of  breaking  her  own  neck),  would  treat  her- 
self to  an  occasional  ride  whenever  circumstances  allowed.  One  day  at 
play-time,  when  Mrs.  Lorriby  was  out  upon  one  of  her  walks,  which  she 
sometimes  took  at  that  hour,  Betsy  Ann  hopped  upon  the  mare,  and 
bantered  me  for  a  race  to  the  spring  and  back.  I  accepted.  We  set 
out.  I  beat  old  Kate  on  the  return,  because  she  stumbled  and  fell. 
A  great  laugh  was  raised,  and  we  were  detected  by  Mrs.  Lorriby. 
Passing  me,  she  went  up  to  Betsy  Ann,  and  thus  spoke  : 

"  Betsy  Ann  Acree,  libities  is  libities,  and  horses  is  horses,  which  is 
mars  is  mars.  I  have  ast  you  not  to  ride  this  mar,  which  she  was  give 
to  me  by  my  parrent  father,  and  which  she  have  not  been  rid,  no,  not 
by  Josiah  Lorribee  hisself,  and  which  I  have  said  I  do  not  desires  she 
shall  be  spilt  in  her  gaits,  and  which  I  wants  and  desires  you  will  not 
git  upon  the  back  of  that  mar  nary  nother  time." 

After  this  event  these  two  ladies  seemed  to  regard  each  other  with 
even  increased  dislike. 

Miss  Betsy  Ann  Aery  had  heretofore  escaped  correction  for  any  of 
her  shortcomings,  although  they  were  not  few.  She  was  fond  of 
mischief,  and  no  more  afraid  of  Mr.  Lorriby  than  Mr.  Bill  Williams 
was.  Indeed,  Miss  Betsy  Ann  considered  herself  to  be  a  woman,  and 
she  had  been  heard  to  say  that  a  whipping  was  something  which  she 
would  take  from  nobody.  Mr.  Lorriby  smiled  at  her  mischievous 
tricks,  but  Mrs.  Lorriby  frowned.  These  ladies  came  to  dislike 
each  other  more  and  more.  The  younger,  when  in  her  frolics,  fre- 
quently noticed  the  elder  give  her  husband  a  look  which  was  expres- 
sive of  much  meaning.  Seaborn  had  also  noticed  this,  and  the  worse 
Miss  Aery  grew,  the  oftener  Mrs.  Lorriby  came  to  the  school.  The 
truth  is  that  Seaborn  had  pondered  so  much  that  he  at  last  made  a 
profound  discovery.  He  had  come  to  believe  fully,  and  in  this  he  was 
right,  that  the  object  which  the  female  Lorriby  had  in  coming  at  all  was 
to  protect  the  male.  A  bright  thought !  He  communicated  it  to  Miss 
Aery,  and  slyly  hinted  several  times  that  he  believed  she  was  afraid 
of  Old  Red  Eye,  as  he  denominated  the  master's  wife.  Miss  Aery 
indignantly  repelled  every  such  insinuation,  and  became  only  the 
bolder  in  what  she  said  and  what  she  did.  Seaborn  knew  that  the 
Lorribys  were  well  aware  of  Mr.  Bill's  preference  for  the  girl,  and  he 
intensely  enjoyed  her  temerity.  But  it  was  hard  to  satisfy  him  that 
she  was  not  afraid  of  Old  Red  Eye.     If  Old  Red  Eye  had  not  been 


88  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES, 

there,  Betsy  Ann  would  have  done  so  and  so.  The  reason  why  she  did 
not  do  so  and  so,  was  because  Old  Red  Eye  was  abftut.  Alas  for 
human  nature  !  —  male  and  female.  Betsy  Ann  went  on  and  on,  until 
she  was  brought  to  a  halt.     The  occasion  was  thus. 

There  was  in  the  school  a  boy  of  about  my  own  size,  and  a  year 
or  two  older,  whose  name  was  Martin  Granger.  He  was  somewhat  of 
a  pitiful-looking  creature  —  whined  when  he  spoke,  and  was  frequently 
in  quarrels,  not  only  with  the  boys,  but  with  the  girls.  He  was  sus- 
pected of  sometimes  playing  the  part  of  spy  and  informer  to  the 
Lorribys,  both  of  whom  treated  him  with  more  consideration  than  any 
other  pupil,  except  Mr.  Bill  Williams.  Miss  Betsy  Ann  cordially  dis- 
liked him,  and  she  honored  myself  by  calling  me  her  favorite  in  the 
whole  school. 

Now  Martin  and  I  got  ourselves  very  unexpectedly  into  a  fight. 
I  had  divided  my  molasses  with  him  at  dinner-time  for  weeks  and 
weeks.  A  few  of  the  pupils  whose  parents  could  afford  to  have  that 
luxury,  were  accustomed  to  carry  it  to  school  in  phials.  I  usually  ate 
my  part  after  boring  a  hole  in  my  biscuit  and  then  filling  it  up.  I  have 
often  wished  since  I  have  been  grown  that  I  could  relish  that  prepara- 
tion as  I  relished  it  when  a  boy.  But  as  we  grow  older  our  tastes 
change.  Martin  Granger  relished  the  juice  even  more  than  I.  In  all 
my  observations  I  have  never  known  a  person  of  any  description  who 
was  as  fond  of  molasses  as  he  was.  It  did  me  good  to  see  him  eat  it. 
He  never  brought  any  himself,  but  he  used  to  hint,  in  his  whining  way, 
that  the  time  was  not  distant  when  his  father  would  have  a  whole  keg- 
ful,  and  when  he  should  bring  it  to  school  in  his  mother's  big  snuff- 
bottle,  which  was  well  known  to  us  all.  Although  I  was  not  so 
sanguine  of  the  realisation  of  this  prospect  as  he  seemed  to  be,  yet 
I  had  not  on  that  account  become  tired  of  furnishing  him.  I  only 
grew  tired  of  his  presence  while  at  my  dinner,  and  I  availed  myself 
of  a  trifling  dispute  one  day  to  shut  down  upon  him.  I  not  only 
did  not  invite  him  to  partake  of  my  molasses,  but  I  rejected  his 
spontaneous  proposition  to  that  effect.  He  had  been  dividing  it  with 
me  so  long  that  I  believe  he  thought  my  right  to  cut  him  off  now  was 
estopped.  He  watched  me  as  I  bored  my  holes  and  poured  in  and 
ate,  and  even  wasted  the  precious  fluid.  I  could  not  consume  it  all. 
When  I  had  finished  eating,  I  poured  water  into  the  phial  and  made 
what  we  called  "beverage."  I  would  drink  a  little,  then  shake  it  and 
hold  it  up  before  me.     The  golden  bubbles  shone  gloriously  in  the 


Hoza  Mr.  Bill  Williams  took  the  Responsibility.  89 

sun-light.  I  had  not  said  a  word  to  Martin  during  these  interesting 
operations,  nor  even  looked  towards  him.  But  I  knew  that  his  eyes 
were  upon  me  and  the  phial.  Just  as  I  swallowed  the  last  drop,  his  full 
heart  could  bear  no  more,  and  he  uttered  a  cry  of  pain.  I  turned  to 
him  and  asked  him  what  was  the  matter.  The  question  seemed  to  be 
considered  as  adding  insult  to  injustice. 

"  Corn  deternally  trive  your  devilish  hide,"  he  answered,  and  gave 
me  the  full  benefit  of  his  clenched  fist  upon  my  stomach.  He  was 
afterwards  heard  to  say  that  "  thar  was  the  place  whar  he  wanted  to 
hit  fust."  *We  closed,  scratched,  pulled  hair,  and  otherwise  struggled 
until  we  were  separated.  Martin  went  immediately  to  Mr.  Lorriby, 
gave  his  version  of  the  brawl,  and  just  as  the  school  was  to  be  dis- 
missed for  the  day,  I  was  .called  up  and  flogged  without  inquiry  and 
without  explanation. 

Miss  Betsy  Ann  Aery  had  seen  the  fight.  When  I  came  to  my  seat, 
crying  bitterly,  her  indignation  could  not  contain  itself 

"  Mr.  Larribee,"  she  said,  her  cheeks  growing  redder,  "■  you  have 
whipped  that  boy  for  nothing." 

Betsy  Ann,  with  all  her  pluck,  had  never  gone  so  far  as  this.  Mr. 
Lorriby  turned  pale  and  looked  at  his  wife.  Her  red  eyes  fairly 
glistened  with  fire.  He  understood  it,  and  said  to  Betsy  Ann  in  a 
hesitating  tone, — 

"  You  had  better  keep  your  advice  to  yourself." 

"  I  did  not  give  you  any  advice.  I  just  said  you  whipped  that  boy 
for  nothing,  and  I  said  the  truth." 

"  Aint  that  advice,  madam  t  " 

"  I  am  no  madam,  I  thank  you,  sir ;  and  if  that's  advice  —  " 

"  Shet  up  your  mouth,  Betsy  Ann  Aery." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Betsy  Ann,  very  loud,  and  she  fastened  her  pretty 
pouting  lips  together,  elevated  her  head,  inclined  a  little  to  one  side, 
and  seemed  amusedly  awaiting  further  orders. 

The  female  Lorriby  here  rose,  went  to  her  husband,  and  whispered 
earnestly  to  him.     He  hesitated,  and  then  resolved. 

"  Come  here  to  me,  Betsy  Ann  Aery." 

She  went  up  as  gaily  as  if  she  expected  a  present. 

"  I  am  going  to  whip  Betsy  Ann  Aery,  Ef  any  boy  here  wants  to 
take  it  for  her,  he  can  now  step  forrards." 

Betsy  Ann  patted  her  foot,  and  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left,  nor  yet  behind  her. 
12 


90  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

When  a  substitute  was  invited  to  appear,  the  house  was  still  as  a 
graveyard.  I  rubbed  my  legs  apologetically,  and  looked  up  at  Seaborn, 
who  sat  by  me. 

"  No,  sir  ;  if  I  do  may  I  be  dinged,  and  then  dug  up  and  —  "  I  did 
not  listen  to  the  remainder  ;  and  as  no  one  else  seemed  disposed  to 
volunteer,  and  as  the  difficulty  was  brought  about  upon  my  own  account, 
and  as  Betsy  Ann  liked  me  and  I  liked  Betsy  Ann,  I  made  a  desperate 
resolution,  and  rose  and  presented  myself.  Betsy  Ann  appeared  to  be 
disgusted. 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  whip  that  child  any  more  to-day,  if  I  was  in 
your  place,  especially  for  other  folk's  doings." 

"That's  jest  as  you  say." 

"  Well,  I  say  go  back  to  your  seat,  Phil." 

I  obeyed,  and  felt  relieved  and  proud  of  myself.  Mr.  Lorriby  began 
to  straighten  his  switch.  Then  I  and  all  the  other  pupils  looked  at 
Mr.  Bill  Williams. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Oh  !  what  an  argument  was  going  on  in  Mr.  Bill's  breast.  Vain  had 
been  all  efforts  heretofore  made  to  bring  him  in  any  way  into  collision 
with  the  Lorribys.  He  had  even  kept  himself  out  of  all  combinations 
to  get  a  little  holiday  by  an  innocent  ducking,  and  useless  had  been  all 
appeals  heretofore  to  his  sympathies ;  for  he  was  like  the  rest  who  had 
been  through  the  ordeal  of  the  schools,  and  had  grown  to  believe  that 
it  did  more  good  than  harm.  If  it  had  been  anybody  but  Betsy  Ann 
Aery,  he  would  have  been  unmoved.  But  it  luas  Betsy  Ann  Aery,  and 
he  had  been  often  heard  to  say  that  if  Betsy  Ann  Aery  should  have  to  be 
whipped,  he  should  take  upon  himself  the  responsibility  of  seeing  that 
that  must  not  be  done.  And  now  that  contingency  had  come.  What 
ought  to  be  done  ?  How  was  this  responsibility  to  be  discharged  ? 
Mr.  Bill  wished  that  the  female  Lorriby  had  stayed  away  that  day. 
He  did  not  know  exactly  why  he  wished  it,  but  he  wished  it.  To  add 
to  his  other  difficulties.  Miss  Betsy  Ann  had  never  given  any  token  of 
her  reciprocation  of  his  regard  ;  for  now  that  the  novelty  of  the  future 
clerkship  had  worn  away,  she  had  returned  to  her  old  habit  of  never 
seeming  to  notice  that  there  was  such  a  person  as  himself.  But  the 
idea  of  a  switch  falling  upon  her  whose  body  from  the  crown  of  her 


'How  Mr.  Bill  Williams  took  the  Responsibility.  91 

head  to  the  soles  of  her  feet  was  so  precious  to  him,  outweighed  every 
other  consideration,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  be  as  good  as  his 
word,  and  take  the  responsibility.  Just  as  the  male  Lorriby  (the  female 
by  his  side)  was  about  to  raise  the  switch  — 

"Stop  a  minute,  Mr.  Larrabee  ! "  he  exclaimed,  advancing  in  a  highly 
excited  manner. 

The  teacher  lowered  his  arm  and  retreated  one  step,  looking  a  little 
irresolute.  His  wife  advanced  one  step,  and  looking  straight  at  Mr. 
Bill,  her  robust  frame  rose  at  least  an  inch  higher. 

"  Mr.  Larrabee  !  I  —  ah  —  don't  exactly  consider  myself—  ah  —  as 
a  scholar  here  now;  because  —  ah  —  I  expect  to  move  to  Dukes- 
borough  in  a  few  days,  and  keep  store  thar  for  Mr.  Bland  &  Jones." 

To  his  astonishment,  this  announcement,  so  impressive  heretofore, 
failed  of  the  slightest  effect  now,  when,  of  all  times,  an  effect  was 
desired,  Mr.  Lorriby,  in  answer  to  a  sign  from  his  wife,  had  re- 
covered his  lost  ground,  and  looked  placidly  upon  him,  but  answered 
nothing. 

"  I  say,"  repeated  Mr.  Bill  distinctly,  as  if  he  supposed  he  had  not 
been  heard,  "  I  say  that  I  expect  in  a  few  days  to  move  to  Dukes- 
borough  j  to  live  thar;  to  keep  store  thar  for  Mr.  Bland  &  Jones." 

"Well,  William,  I  think  I  have  heard  that  before.     I  want  to  hear 
you  talk  about  it  some  time  when  it  aint  school  time,  and  when  we  aint 
so  busy  as  we  air  now  at  the  present." 
"Well,  but  —  "  persisted  Mr.  Bill. 
"  Well,  but  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Lorriby. 
"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  former,  insistlngly. 

"  Well,  but  what  t  Is  this  case  got  anything  to  do  with  it  ?  Is  she 
got  anything  to  do  with  it  ? " 

^'  In  cose  it  have  not,"  answered  Mr.  Bill,  sadly. 
"  Well,  what  makes  you  tell  us  of  it  now,  at  the  present .? "     Oh  ! 
what  a  big  word  was  that  us,  then,  to  Josiah  Lorriby. 

"  Mr.  Larrabee,"  urged  Mr.  Bill,  in  as  persuasive  accents  as  he  could 
employ ;  «  no,  sir,  Mr.  Larrabee,  it  have  not  got  anything  to  do  with 
It ;  but  yit  — "  ^  J        b 

"  Well,  yit  what,  William  ? " 

"Well,  Mr.  Larrabee,  I  thought  as  I  ims  a-goin  to  quit  school  soon, 
and  as  I  was  a-gom  to  move  to  Dukesborough  —  as  I  was  a-goin  ri^ht 
outen  yom  school  intoo  Dukesborough  as  it  war,  to  keep  store  thar, 
may  be  you  mout,  as  a  favor,  do  me  a  favor  before  I  left  " 


92  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

"Well !  may  I  be  dinged,  and  then  dug  up  and  dinged  over  agin  !  " 
This  was  said  in  a  suppressed  whisper  by  a  person  at  my  side. 
"  Beggin  !  beggin  !  ding  his  white-livered  hide  —  beg-gin  !  " 

"  Why,  William,"  replied  Mr.  Lorriby,  "  ef  it  war  convenant,  and 
the  favor  war  not  too  much,  it  mout  be  that  I  mout  grant  it." 

"I  thought  you  would,  Mr.  Larrabee.  The  favor  aint  a  big  one  — 
leastways,  it  aint  a  big  one  to  you.  It  would  be  a  mighty  —  "  But 
Mr.  Bill  thought  he  could  hardly  trust  himself  to  say  how  big  a  one  it 
would  be  to  himself. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  William  ? " 

"  Mr.  Larrabee  ! —  sir,  Mr.  Larrabee,  I  ax  it  as  a  favor  of  you,  not 
to  whip  Betsy  Ann — which  is  Miss  Betsy  Ann  Aery." 

"  Thar  now  !  "  groaned  Seaborn,  and  bowed  his  head  in  despair. 

The  male  Lorriby  looked  upon  the  female.  Her  face  had  relaxed 
somewhat  from  its  stern  expression.  She  answered  his  glance  by  one 
which  implied  a  conditional  affirmative. 

"  Ef  Betsy  Ann  Aery  will  behave  herself,  and  keep  her  impudence 
to  herself,  I  will  let  her  off  this  time." 

All  eyes  turned  to  Betsy  Ann.  I  never  saw  her  look  so  fine  as  she 
raised  up  her  head,  tossed  her  yellow  ringlets  back,  and  said  in  a  tone 
increasing  in  loudness  from  beginning  to  end: 

"  But  Betsy  Ann  Aery  won't  do  it'' 

"  Hello  agin  thar  ! ''  whispered  Seaborn,  and  raised  his  head.  His 
dying  hopes  of  a  big  row  were  revived.  This  was  the  last  opportunity, 
and  he  was  as  eager  as  if  the  last  dollar  he  ever  expected  to  make  had 
been  pledged  upon  the  event.  I  have  never  forgotten  his  appearance, 
as  with  his  legs  wide  apart,  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  his  lips  apart, 
but  his  teeth  firmly  closed,  he  gazed  upon  that  scene. 

Lorriby,  the  male,  was  considerably  disconcerted,  and  would  have 
compromised  ;  but  Lorriby,  the  female,  again  in  an  instant  resumed 
her  hostile  attitude,  and  this  time  her  great  eyes  looked  like  two  balls 
of  fire.  She  concentrated  their  gaze  upon  Betsy  Ann  with  a  ferocity 
which  was  appalling.  Betsy  Ann  tried  to  meet  them,  and  did  for  one 
moment  ;  but  in  another  she  found  she  could  not  hold  out  longer ;  so 
she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed.  Mr.  Bill  could  endure 
no  more.     Both  arms  fairly  flew  out  at  full  length. 

"  The  fact  ar,"  he  cried,  "  that  I  am  goin  to  take  the  responsibility  ! 
Conshequenches  may  be  conshequenches,  but  I  shall  take  the  respon- 
sibility." His  countenance  was  that  of  a  man  who  had  made  up  his 
mind.     It  had  come  at  last,  and  we  were  perfectly  happy. 


How  Mr.  Bill  Williams  took  the  Responsibility.  93 

The  female  Lorriby  turned  her  eyes  from  Betsy  Ann  and  fixed  them 
steadily  on  Mr.  Bill.  She  advanced  a  step  forward,  and  raised  her 
arms  and  placed  them  on  her  sides.  The  male  Lorriby  placed  himself 
immediately  behind  his  mate's  right  arm,  while  Rum,  who  seemed  to 
understand  what  was  going  on,  came  up,  and  standing  on  his  mistress's 
left,  looked  curiously  up  at  Mr.  Bill. 

Seaborn  Byne  noticed  this  last  movement.  "  Well,  ef  that  don't 
beat  creation  !  You  in  it  too,  is  you  ? "  he  muttered  through  his  teeth. 
"Well,  never  do  you  mind.  Ef  I  don't  fix  you  and  put  you  whar  you'll 
never  know  no  more  but  what  you've  got  a  tail,  may  I  be  dinged,  and 
then,"  etc. 

It  is  true  that  Seaborn  had  been  counted  upon  for  a  more  important 
work  than  the  neutralising  of  Rum's  forces  ;  still,  I  knew  that  Mr. 
Bill  wanted  and  needed  no  assistance.  We  were  all  ready,  however  — 
that  is,  I  should  say,  all  but  Martin.  He  had  no  griefs,  and  therefore 
no  desires. 

Such  was  the  height  of  Mr.  Bill's  excitement  that  he  did  not  even 
seem  to  notice  the  hostile  demonstrations  of  these  numerous  and 
various  foes.  His  mind  was  made  up,  and  he  was  going  right  on  to 
his  purpose. 

"  Mr.  Larrabee,"  he  said  firmly,  "  I  am  goin  to  take  the  responsibility. 
I  axed  you  as  a  favor  to  do  me  a  favor  before  I  left.  I  aint  much  used 
to  axin  favors  ;  but  sich  it  war  now.  It  seem  as  ef  that  favor  cannot 
be  grant.  Yea,  sich  is  the  circumstances.  But  it  must  be  so. 
Sense  I  have  been  here  they  aint  been  no  difficulties  betwixt  you  and 
me,  nor  betwixt  me  and  Miss  Larrabee ;  and  no  nothin  of  the  sort, 
not  even  betwixt  me  and  Rum.  That  dog  have  sometimes  snap  at  my 
legs;  but  I  have  bore  it  for  peace,  and  wanted  no  fuss.  Sich,  there- 
fore, it  was  why  I  axed  the  favor  as  a  favor.  But  it  can't  be  hoped, 
and  so  I  takes  the  responsibility.  Mr.  Larrabee,  sir,  and  you.  Miss 
Larrabee,  I  am  goin  from  this  school  right  intoo  Dukesborough,  straight 
intoo  Mr.  Bland's  store,  to  clerk  thar.  Sich  bein  all  the  circumstances, 
I  hates  to  do  what  I  tells  you  I'm  goin  to  do.  But  it  can't  be  hoped, 
it  seem,  and  I  ar  goin  to  do  it." 

Mr.  Bill  announced  this  conclusion  in  a  very  highly  elevated  tone. 

"Oh,  yes,  ding  your  old  hides  of  you  !  "  I  heard  at  my  side. 

"  Mr.  Larrabee,  and  you,  Miss  Larrabee,"  continued  the  speaker,  "I 
does  not  desires  that  Betsy  Ann  Aery  shall  be  whipped.  I  goes  on  to 
say  that  as  sich  it  ar,  and  as  sich  the  circumstances,  Betsy  Ann  Aery 
can't  be  whipped  whar  I  ar  ef  I  can  keep  it  from  bein  done." 


94  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  You  heerd  that,  didn't  you  ? "  asked  Seaborn,  low,  but  cruelly 
triumphant ;  and  Seaborn  looked  at  Rum  as  if  considering  how  he 
should  begin  the  battle  with  him. 

Mrs.  Lorriby  seldom  spoke.     Whenever  she  did,  it  was  to  the  point. 

"  Yes,  but  Weelliam  Weelliams,  you  can't  keep  it  from  bein  done." 
And  she  straightened  herself  yet  taller,  and  raising  her  hands  yet 
higher  upon  her  sides,  changed  the  angle  of  elbows  from  obtuse  to 
acute. 

"  Yes,  but  I  kin,"  persisted  Mr.  Bill.  "  Mr.  Larrabee  !  Mr.  Larrabee  !  " 

This  gentleman  had  lowered  his  head,  and  was  peering  at  Mr.  Bill 
through  the  triangular  opening  formed  by  his  mate's  side  and  arm. 
The  reason  why  Mr.  Bill  addressed  him  twice,  was  because  he  had 
missed  him  when  he  threw  the  first  address  over  her  shoulder.  The 
last  was  sent  through  the  triangle. 

"  Mr.  Larrabee  !  I  say  it  kin  be  done,  and  I'm  goin  to  do  it.  Sir, 
little  as  I  counted  on  sich  a  case,  yit  still  it  ar  so.  Let  the  conshe- 
quenches  be  what  they  be,  both  now  and  some  futur  day.  Mr. 
Larrabee,  sir,  that  whippin  that  you  was  a-goin  to  give  to  Betsy  Ann 
Aery  cannot  fall  upon  her  shoulders,  and  —  that  is,  upon  her  shoulders, 
and  before  my  face.  Instid  of  sich,  sir,  you  may  jest  —  instid  of  whip- 
pin  her,  sir,  you  may  —  instid  of  her,  give  it,  sir  —  notwithstandin  and 
nevertheless — you  may  give  it  to  me." 


\ 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Oh !  what  a  fall  was  there,  my  countrymen  ! 
Then  you  and  I  and  all  of  us  fell  down  ! " 


If  the  pupils  of  Josiah  Lorriby's  school  had  had  the  knowledge  of  all 
tongues  ;  if  they  had  been  familiar  with  the  histories  of  all  the  base 
men  of  all  the  ages,  they  could  have  found  no  words  in  which  to  char- 
acterise, and  no  person  with  whom  to  compare,  Mr.  Bill  Williams.  If 
they  had  known  what  it  was  to  be  a  traitor,  they  might  have  admitted 
that  he  was  more  like  this,  the  most  despicable  of  all  characters,  than 
any  other.  But  they  would  have  argued  that  he  was  baser  than  all 
other  traitors,  because  he  had  betrayed,  not  only  others,  but  himself. 
Mr.  Bill  Williams,  the  big  boy,  the  future  resident  of  Dukesborough, 
the  expectant  clerk,  the  vindicator  of  persecuted  girlhood  in  the  per- 


How  Mr.  Bill  Williams  took  the  Responsibility.  95 

r"u°^  i?u  ^'"^  ¥  ^""^^^^  ^^^  pledge-taker  of  responsibilities,- that 
he  should  have  taken  the  pains,  just  before  he  was  going  away,  to  de- 
grade himself  by  proposing  to  take  upon  his  own  shoulders  the  rod 
that  had  never  before  descended  but  upon  the  backs  and  legs  of  chil- 
dren .1  Poor  Seaborn  Byne  !  If  I  ever  saw  expressed  in  a  human 
beings  countenance  disgust,  anger  and  abject  hopelessness,  I  saw 
them  as  I  turned  to  look  at  him.     He  spoke  not  one  word,  not  even  in 

moSfles^f  ^'  '^  ^^  ''°"^'^  "^''^'  """'^  P^^^^  confidence  in 

When  Mr  Bill  had  concluded  his  ultimatum,  the  female  Lorribv's 
arms  came  down,  and  the  male  Lorriby's  head  went  up.  Thev  sent 
each  the  other  a  smile.  Both  were  smart  enough  to  be  satisfied  The 
latter  was  more  than  satisfied. 

"  I  am  proud  this  day  of  William  Williams.  It  air  so,  and  I  can  but 
say  I  air  proud  of  him.  William  Williams  were  now  in  a  position  to 
stand  up  and  shme  in  his  new  spere  of  action.  If  he  went  to  Dukes- 
borough  to  keep  store  thar,  he  mout  now  go  sayin  that  as  he  had  been 
a  good  scholar,  so  he  mout  expect  to  be  a  good  clerk,  and  fit  to  be 
trusted,  yea,  with  thousands  upon  thousands,  ef  sich  mout  be  the  case 
But  as  It  was  so,  and  as  he  have  been  to  us  all  as  it  war,  and  no  dif- 
ficulties, and  no  nothin  of  the  sort,  and  he  war  goin,  and  it  mout  be 
soon,  yea,  it  mout  be  to-morrow,  from  this  school  straight  intoo  a 
!nl'^  ""^7^'  T  ^^^""°t-.  No,  far  be  it.  This  were  a  skene  too 
solemn  and  too  lovely  for  sich.  I  cannot,  nor  I  cannot.  William 
Williams  may  now  take  his  seat." 

Mr.  Bill  obeyed.  I  was  glad  that  he  did  not  look  at  Betsy  Ann  as 
she  turned  to  go  to  hers.  But  she  looked  at  him.  I  saw  her,  and  little 
as  I  was,  I  saw  also  that  if  he  ever  had  had  any  chance  of  winning 
her,  It  was  gone  from  him  forever.  It  was  now  late  in  the  afternoon 
and  we  were  dismissed.  Without  saying  a  word  to  any  one,  Mr  Bill 
took  his  arithmetic  and  slate  (for  ciphering,  as  it  was  called  hen,  was 
his  only  study).  We  knew  what  it  meant,  for  we  felt,  as  well  aL  he, 
that  this  was  his  last  day  at  school.  As  my  getting  to  school  depended 
upon  his  continuance,  I  did  not  doubt  that  i?  was  my  last  also 

M^Vu^'u^^  f""^'  ^"r  "°t.""f'l  separating  from  all  the  other  boys, 
Mr.  Bill  showed  some  disposition  to  boast. 

SQuiTe°''  ^^^   ^'"^^  ^^"°'''^  '^^^  monstous  badly  skeerd    this    evening, 

"  Wasn't  you  scared  too  > "  I  asked. 


g6  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  Skeerd  ?  I'd  like  to  see  the  schoolmaster  that  could  skeer  me. 
I  skeerd  of  Joe  Larrabee  ? " 

"  I  did  not  think  you  were  scared  of  him." 

"  Skeerd  of  who  then  ?  Miss  Larrabee  ?  fOld  Red  Eye  ?7  She 
mout  be  redder-eyed  than  what  she  ar,  and  then  not  skeer  me."  Why 
look  here,  Squire,  how  would  I  look  goin  into  Dukesborough,  into  Mr, 
Bland  and  Jones'  store,  right  from  bein  skeerd  of  old  Miss  Larrabee  ; 
to  be  runnin  right  intoo  Mr.  Bland  and  Jones'  store,  and  old  Meheti- 
billy  Larrabee  right  arter  me,  or  old  Joe^uther.  It  wur  well  for  him 
that  he  never  struck  Betsy  Ann  Aery.  \  Ef  he  had  a  struck  her,  Joe 
Larrabee's  strikin  days  would  be  over." 

"  But  wasn't  you  goin  to  take  her  whippin  for  her  ? " 

"Lookee  here,  Squire,  I  didn't  take  it,  did  1 1 " 

"  No,  but  you  said  you  was  ready  to  take  it." 

"  Poor  little  fellow  !  "  he  said,  compassionately.  "  Squire,  you  are 
yit  young  in  the  ways  of  this  sorrowful  and  ontimely  world.  Joe  Lar- 
rabee knows  me,  and  I  knows  Joe  Larrabee,  and  as  the  feller  said,  that 
ar  sufficient." 

We  were  now  at  our  gate.  Mr.  Bill  bade  me  good  evening,  and 
passed  on  ;  and  thus  ended  his  pupilage  and  mine  at  the  school  of 
Josiah  Lorriby. 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.    ADIEL   SLACK, 


CHAPTER  I. 


"  Companions 
That  do  converse,  and  waste  the  time  together, 
Whose  soiils  do  bear  an  equal  yoke  of  love." 

Merchant  of  Venice. 

MR.  BENJAMIN  (but  as  everybody  called  him,  Uncle  Ben) 
Pea  resided  two  miles  out  of  Dukesborough,  He  was  a  small 
farmer  —  not  small  in  person,  but  a  farmer  on  a  small  scale.  He 
raised  a  fair  crop  of  corn,  a  trifle  of  cotton,  great  quantities  of  potatoes, 
and  some  pinders.  It  was  said  that  in  his  younger  days  he  used  to  be 
brisk  in  his  business,  and  to  make  something  by  hauling  wood  to  town. ' 
He  spent  as  little  as  he  could  and  saved  as  much  as  he  could ;  but 
for  a  certain  purpose  he  kept  as  good  an  establishment  as  he  could. 
His  little  wagon  used  to  be  good  enough  to  carry  him  and  the  old 
woman  to  town  ;  yet  he  bought  a  second-hand  gig,  and  did  other  things 
in  proportion.  It  was  extravagant,  and  he  knew  it,  but  he  had  a 
purpose.  That  purpose  was  to  marry  off  his  daughter  Georgiana. 
Now,  Georgiana  had  told  him  for  years  and  years,  even  before  the  old 
woman  died,  that  if  he  wanted  to  marry  her  off  (a  thing  she  cared 
nothing  about  herself),  the  only  way  to  do  that  was  for  the  family  to  go 
in  a  decent  way.  And  now  that  the  old  woman  had  died  and  her 
father  had  grown  old,  she  had  her  own  way,  and  that  was  as  decent  as 
could  be  afforded,  and  no  more. 

Miss  Georgiana  Pea  was  heavy  —  heavy  of  being  married  off,  and 
heavy  of  body.     Her  weight  for  fifteen  years  at  the  least  had  not  been 
13 


98  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

probably  less  than  one  hundred  and  seventy  pounds.  In  her  seasons  ^ 
of  highest  health,  which  were  probably  oftener  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
Fall  than  at  any  other  period  of  the  year,  people  used  to  guess  that 
it  might  be  even  more  ;  but  there  was  no  getting  at  it  at  any  time, 
because  she  always  stoutly  refused  to  be  weighed.  True,  she  laced  ; 
but  that  did  not  seem  to  diminish  her  materially  ;  for  what  was  pressed 
down  in  one  region  re-appeared  in  another.  She  had  a  magnificent 
bust.  This  bust  was  her  pride,  that  was  evident.  Indeed,  she  as 
good  as  confessed  as  much  to  me  one  day.  I  knew  the  family  well ; 
she  didn't  mind  me,  I  was  a  very  small  boy,  and  she  was  aware  that  I 
considered  that  bust  a  wonderful  work  of  nature.  I  have  often  been 
amused,  since  I  have  grown  old  and  less  impressible  by  such  things, 
to  remember  how  tremendously  magnificent  I  used  to  regard  the  bust 
of  Georgiana  Pea. 

Yet  she  didn't  marry.  The  old  gentleman  had  been  so  anxious 
about  it  that  he  had  long  ago  rather  given  it  out  in  a  public  w'ay,  that 
upon  her  marriage  with  his  consent  (she  was  the  only  child  —  Peterson 
died  when  a  boy,  of  measles)  he  should  give  up  everything,  houses, 
lands,  furniture,  and  mone}',  and  live  upon  the  bounty  of  his  son-in- 
law.  These  several  items  of  property  had  been  often  appraised  by  the 
neighbors  as  accurately  as  could  be  done  (considering  that  the  exact 
amount  of  money  could  not  be  verified),  in  view  of  ascertaining  for 
their  own  satisfaction  what  her  dowry  might  be.  The  appraisement 
had  gone  through  many  gradations  of  figures  while  the  bridegroom 
delayed  his  coming.  At  the  period  of  which  I  am  now  telling,  there 
were  those  who  maintained  that  Uncle  Ben  was  worth  four  thousand 
dollars  ;  others  shook  their  heads  and  said  thirty-five  hundred  ;  while 
others  yet,  who  professed  to  know  more  about  it  than  anybody  else, 
they  didn't  care  who  it  was,  insisted  that  three  thousand  was  the  outside. 
Many  a  man,  it  seemed  to  me,  and  some  that  would  have  been  worth 
having,  might  have  been  caught  by  that  bust  and  that  prospective 
fortune.  But  they  were  not ;  and  now,  at  thirt}',  or  thereabout,  she  was 
evidently  of  the  opinion  that  even  if  she  had  many  desires  to  enter 
into  the  estate  of  marriage,  their  chances  of  gratification  were  few. 
Indeed,  Miss  Pea  was  at  that  stage  when  she  was  beginning  to  speak 
at  times  of  the  other  sex  with  disgust. 

I\Ir.  Jacob  Spouter  resided  in  the  very  heart  of  Dukesborough,  and 
kept  a  hotel.  The  town  being  small,  his  business  was  small.  He  was 
a  small  man,  but  looked  bright,  capable,  and  business-like.    He  dressed 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL  SLACK. 


99 


pretty  well.  But  this  was  for  effect,  and  was  both  a  delusion  and  a 
snare.  It  was  for  a  sign  for  his  hotel.  To  look  at  him,  you  would 
have  supposed  that  he  kept  a  good  hotel ;  but  he  did  not.  It  is  sur- 
prising, indeed,  to  consider  how  few  men  there  are  who  do.  But  this 
is  a  great  theme,  and  entirely  independent  of  what  I  wish  to  tell, 
except  so  far  as  it  may  relate  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Spouter  had  yet 
living  with  him  an  only  child,  a  daughter,  whose  name  was  Angeline. 
Miss  Angeline,  instead  of  taking  after  the  Spouters,  who  were  short, 
took  after  the  Fanigans,  who  were  long.  She  was  a  very  thin  young 
lady,  almost  too  thin  to  look  well,  and  her  hair  and  complexion  were 
rather  sallow.     But  then  that  hair  curled  —  every  hair  curled. 

Who  has  not  a  weakness  ?  Miss  Pea  had  hers,  as  we  have  seen  ;  and 
now  we  shall  see,  as  everybody  for  years  had  seen,  that  Miss  Spouter 
had  hers  also.  It  was  an  innocent  one:  it  was  her  curls.  In  the  memory 
of  man  that  hair  had  never  been  done  up ;  but  through  all  changes  of 
circumstances  and  weather  it  had  hung  in  curls,  just  as  it  hung  on  the 
day  when  this  story  begins.  They  had  been  complimented  thousands 
of  times,  and  by  hundreds  of  persons  ;  the  guests  of  years  had  noticed 
them,  and  had  uttered  and  smiled  their  approbation ;  and  there  had 
been  times  when  Miss  Spouter  hoped,  in  spite  of  the  want  of  other  as 
striking  charms,  and  in  spite  of  the  universally  known  fact  that  her 
father  had  always  been  insolvent  and  always  would  be,  that  those  curls 
would  eventually  entangle  the  person  without  whom  she  felt  that  she 
could  never  be  fully  blest.  While  this  person  was  a  man,  it  was  not 
any  particular  individual  of  the  species.  Many  a  time  had  she  seen 
one  who,  she  thought,  would  answer.  She  was  not  very  fastidious,  but 
she  positively  believed  (and  this  belief  made  her  appear  to  be  anxious) 
that  in  view  of  all  the  circumstances  of  her  life,  the  best  thing  that  she 
could  do  for  herself  would  be  to  marry.  Yet  Miss  Spouter  did  -rwt 
regard  herself  as  wholly  selfish  in  this  wish ;  for  there  was  somethibg' 
in  her,  she  thought,  which  she  constantly  understood  to  be  telling  hef^ 
that  if  she  had  the  opportunity  she  could  make  some  man  extremely 
happy. 

But  though  those  curls  had  been  so  often  praised  —  yea,  though 
they  had  been  sometimes  handled  —  to  such  a  degree  did  people's 
admiration  of  them  extend,  that  Miss  Spouter,  like  her  contemporary 
in  the  country,  was  unmarried,  and  beginning  to  try  to  feel  as  if  she 
despised  the  vain  and  foolish  world  of  man. 

These  young  ladies  were  friends,  and  always  had  been.     They  were 


loo  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

so  much  attached  that  each  seemed,  to  a  superficial  observer,  to  belieere 
that  she  had  been  born  for  but  one  special  purpose,  and  that  was  to 
help  the  other  to  get  married ;  for  Miss  Spouter  believed  and  Miss 
Pea  knew  that  marriage  was  a  subject  which,  without  intermission, 
occupied  the  mind  of  her  friend.  It  was  pleasant  to  hear  Miss  Pea 
extol  Miss  Spouter's  curls ;  then  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  Miss  Spouter, 
who  was  more  sentimental  and  the  better  talker  of  the  two,  praise  Miss 
Pea's  "  figger,"  by  which  term  she  meant  only  her  bust.  No  one  ever 
dreamed  that  it  was  possible  for  any  jealousy  to  rise  between  them  ; 
for  Miss  Spouter  had  no  figure  worth  mentioning,  and  not  a  hair  of 
Miss  Pea's  head  could  be  curled.  Not  only  so,  but  the  fact  was,  that 
in  her  heart  of  hearts  (so  curious  a  thing  is  even  the  most  constant 
friendship)  neither  thought  much  of  the  other's  special  accomplish- 
ment ;  rather,  each  thought  that  there  was  entirely  too  much  of  it, 
especially  Miss  Spouter  touching  the  "  figger."  If  Aliss  Pea  considered 
the  property  qualification  in  her  favor.  Miss  Spouter  did  not  forget  that 
she  resided  right  in  the  very  heart  of  Dukesborough,  and  that  her 
father  kept  a  hotel.  Now,  as  long  as  the  world  stands,  persons  of  their 
condition  who  live  in  town  will  feel  a  little  ahead  of  those  who  live  in 
the  country  ;  while  the  latter,  though  never  exactly  knowing  why,  will 
admit  that  it  is  so.  Miss  Pea  was  generally  very  much  liked  by  the 
neighbors  ;  Miss  Spouter  had  not  made  a  great  number  of  friends. 
Probably  town  airs  had  something  to  do  in  the  matter.  Miss  Pea  was 
considered  the  superior  character  of  the  two,  but  neither  of  them 
thought  so ;  Miss  Spouter,  especially,  who  knew  the  meaning  of  many 
more  words  in  the  dictionary  than  her  friend,  and  who  had  read  Alonzo 
and  Melissa,  and  the  Three  Spaniards,  until  she  had  the  run  of  them 
fully,  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing. 

Miss  Spouter  was  fond  of  visiting  Miss  Pea,  especially  in  water- 
melon time.  Miss  Pea  valued  the  friendship  of  Miss  Spouter  because 
it  afforded  her  frequent  opportunities  of  staying  at  a  hotel,  a  privilege 
which  she  well  knew  not  many  country. girls  enjoyed.  To  stay  there, 
not  as  a  boarder,  but  as  a  friend  of  the  family,  to  eat  there  and 
sleep  there,  and  not  to  pay  for  either  of  these  distinctions  as  other 
people  did,  but  to  do  these  things  on  ^  invitation.  Now,  while  Miss 
Pea  got  much  better  eating  and  sleeping  at  home,  yet  she  could  but 
consider  the  former  as  privileges.  She  never  would  forget  that  once 
when  there  was  a  show  in  Dukesborough,  given  by  a  ventriloquist 
who  was  also  a  juggler,  she  had  been  at  Mr.  J.  Spouter's,  and  had  been 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL  SLACK.  loi 

introduced  to  the  wonderful  man,  and  his  wife  too,  and  had  heard  them 
talk  about  general  matters  just  as  other  people  did. 

But  time  was  waxing  old.  The  bust  had  about  ceased  to  be 
ambitious,  and  the  curls,  though  wishful  yet,  were  falling  into  the  habit 
of  giving  only  despondent  shakes. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Miss  Spouter  sat  in  the  hotel  parlor ;  it  was  on  the  first  floor  and 
opened  upon  the  street.  In  it  were  two  wooden  rocking-chairs,  six 
split-bottoms,  and  a  half-round.  I  shall  not  undertake  to  describe  the 
window-curtains.  She  was  pensive  and  silent ;  the  still  summer 
evening  disposed  her  to  meditation.  She  sat  silent  and  pensive,  but 
not  gloomy.  Looking  out  from  the  window,  she  espied  on  the  further 
side  of  the  square.  Miss  Pea,  who  was  in  the  act  of  turning  towards 
her.  Here  she  came,  in  yellow  calico  and  a  green  calash.  As  she 
walked,  her  arms  were  crossed  peacefully  upon  her  chest. 

"  Howdye,  stranger  !  "  saluted  Miss  Spouter.  They  had  not  met  in 
a  fortnight. 

"  Stranger  yourself,"  answered  Miss  Pea,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh. 
They  embraced ;  the  curls  fell  upon  the  bust  and  the  bust  fostered 
the  curls,  as  only  long  tried  friends  can  fall  upon  and  foster.  Miss 
Pea  came  to  stay  all  night ;  never  had  they  slept  in  the  same  house 
without  sleeping  together. 

"Well,  Georgy,"  Miss  Spouter  remarked,  sweetly,  but  almost  invid- 
iously, as  they  were  getting  into  bed,  "  figger  is  figger." 

"  It's  no  sich  a  thing,"  answered  Miss  Pea,  with  firm  self-denial  ; 
"  it's  curls,  you  know  it's  curls." 

"  No,  George,  its  figger." 

"  Angeline  Spouter,  you  know  it  aint ;  it's  curls,  and  you  know  it's 
curls." 

They  blew  out  the  candle,  and  for  a  short  time  continued  this 
friendly  discussion  ;  but  soon  Miss  Pea  got  the  best  of  it,  as  usual, 
and  Miss  Spouter,  by  silence  and  other  signs,  admitted  that  it  was 
curls. 

"We've  been  sleeping  a  long  time  together,  George." 
"We  have  that." 


102  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"Ten  years." 

"  Yes,  fifteen  of  'em." 

" Gracious  me  !  fifteen?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"Well,  but  I  was  but  a  child  then." 

Miss  Pea  coughed.     She  was  the  elder  by  exactly  six  months. 

"  Did  we  think  ten  years  ago  that  you  would  now  be  a  Pea  and  I  a 
Spouter?" 

"  I  didn't  think  much  about  myself,  but  I  had  no  idea  you  would." 

"  Yet  so  it  is ;  you  with  your  figger  and  yet  a  Pea." 

"And  what  is  worsfe,  you  with  your  curls  and  yet  a  Spouter." 

"No,  not  worse.  You  ought  to  have  been  married  years  ago, 
Georgiana  Pea." 

"  If  I  had  had  your  curls  and  had  wanted  to  marry,  I  should  a  been 
married  and  forgot  it." 

"  No,  George,  I  never  had  the  requisite  figger." 

"  Angeline  Spouter,  do  hush." 

"  Suppose  we  had  married,  George  ? " 
"Well." 

"  I  think  I  could  have  made  my  husband  love  me,  as  few  men  have 
ever  loved,  be  they  whomsoever  they  might." 
"  Ah  !  everybody  knows  that." 
"  No,  alas  !  none  but  thee,  George." 
"Yes,  but  I  know  better." 
Miss  Spouter  again  gave  it  up. 

Miss  Pea  would  fain  have  gone  to  sleep.  Her  hour  for  that  purpose 
had  come-  But  there  was  yet  no  slumber  upon  the  eyelids  of  Miss 
Spouter.  She  talked  away.  She  made  hypothetical  cases  ;  supposing 
for  instance  they  were  married.  Miss  Spouter  ventured  to  look  far  into 
such  a  possible  future,  and  made  some  speculations  upon  the  best  and 
properest  ways  of  bringing  up  families.  It  appeared  during  the  con- 
versation that  Miss  Spouter,  as  a  general  thing,  liked  girls  in  families 
better  than  boys,  while  Miss  Pea's  preference  for  boys  was  bold  and 
decided..  She' admitted  Miss  Pea's  argument  to  be  true,  that  girls  are 
prettier,  especially  if  they  have  curls ;  but.  La  me  !  they  are  such  a 
trouble !  Besides,  boys  were  bad.  She  must  admit  that  too.  But 
then  they  could  be  whipped  and  made  to  mind. 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL  SLACK.  103 

"  Oh,  you  cruel  creature  ! "  right  there  exclaimed  the  merciful  Miss 
Spouter, 

"  No,  Angeline,"  remonstrated  her  companion,  "  no,  I  am  not  cruel ; 
but  I  believe  in  makin  children  mind  and  behave  theirselves."  Miss 
Pea  was  as  firm  as  a  rock. 

"So  do  I,"  replied  Miss  Spouter;  "but  I  can't  understand  how  a 
woman,  a  good  woman,  and  a  kind  woman,  and  an  affectionate  woman, 
and  a  woman  that  had  —  La,  bless  me  !  how  could  such  a  woman  beat 
her  own  family  to  death,  when  in  the  wide,  wide  world  there  was  none 
others  to  stand  by  them  in  the  solemn  hour,  and  —  " 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  "  interposed  Miss  Pea,  "  I  don't  meaji  that.  What  I 
do  mean  —  La  !  Angeline  Spouter,  what  are  you  and  me  a  talkin  about  ? 
It's  redickerlous.     I'm  done." 

Miss  Pea  laughed  outright.  -  But  Miss  Spouter  sighed,  and  remarked 
that  it  wasn't  in  people  to  say  neither  what  was  to  be,  nor  what  wasn't 
to  be. 

"George,  I  do  believe  you  are  going  to  sleep." 

Miss  Pea  declared  that  she  wasn't,  and  like  all  persons  of  her  size, 
she  thought  she  was  telling  the  truth.  Miss  Spouter  had  one  or  two 
other  remarks  which  she  always  made  on  such  occasions,  and  which 
she  wanted  to  make  now. 

"  Georgiana  Pea,  do  you  or  do  you  not  ever  expect  to  marry  ?  I 
ask  you  candidly.'' 

"  No,  Angeline,  I  don't.  I  may  have  had  thoughts,  I  may  have  had 
expectations;  pap  looks  as  if  he  would  go  distracted  if  I  don't  marry; 
but  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  about  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
there's  more  marries  now  than  ever  does  well.  Pap  declares  that  he 
means  to  marry  me  off  to  somebody  before  he  dies.  He  thinks  that  I 
couldn't  take  care  of  myself  if  he  was  to  die,  and  that  he  takes  care 
of  me  now  himself  I  think  I'm  the  one  that  takes  care  of  him,  and  I 
think  I  could  take  as  good  care  of  myself  then  as  I  do  now.  He  says 
I  shall  marry  though,  and  I'm  waitin  to  see  how  it'll  be.  But  I  tell 
you,  Angeline  Spouter,  that  there's  more  marries  now  than  ever  does 
well." 

"  And  —  well,"  answered  Miss  Spouter,  "  and  so  have  I  concluded 
about  it.  It  is  the  honest  expression  of  the  genuine  sentiments  of  my 
innermost  heart.  What  is  man  .?  A  deceitful,  vain  and  foolish  creature, 
who  will  to-day  talk  his  honey  words  and  praise  a  girl's  curls,  and  to- 


I04  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

morrow  he  is  further  off  than  when  we  first  laid  our  eyes  on  him. 
What  is  your  opinion  of  man,  George?  What  now  is  your  opinion  of 
Tom  Dyson,  who  used  to  melt  before  the  sight  of  you  like  summer 
clouds  ere  the  sun  had  set  ? " 

"  I  think  of  Tom  Dyson  like  I  think  of  Barney  Bolton  who  used  to 
praise  your  curls  just  like  they  were  so  much  gold,  and  like  I  think 
of  all  of  'em,  and  that's  about  as  much  as  I  think  of  an  old  dead  pine 
tree  or  post-oak." 

Miss  Pea  had  not  read  many  books  like  Miss  Spouter,  and  must 
necessarily,  therefore,  borrow  her  comparisons  from  objects  familiar  to 
her  country  life.  Miss  Spouter  noticed  the  difference,  but  refrained 
from  remarking  on  it. 

"  And  yet,  Georgiana,  there  is  something  in  me ;  I  feel  it.  It  tells 
me  that  I  could  have  made  Barney  Bolton  much  happier  than  Malinda 
Jones  has.     Barney  Bolton  is  not  happy,  Georgiana  Pea." 

Miss  Pea  only  coughed. 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  Alas  !  I  see  it  in  his  eye  ;  I  see  it  in  his  walk  ;  I  see 
it  in  his  every  action.  The  image  of  Ahgeline  Spouter  is  in  his  breast, 
and  it  will  stay  there  forever." 

Miss  Pea  was  always  perfectly  silent,  and  endeavored  to  feel  solemn 
when  this  last  speech  was  said. 

"  If  you  were  to  marry,  George,  I  should  be  the  lonesoimst  creature 
in  the  wide,  wide  world." 

"  Ah,  well !  when  I  marry,  which  is  never  going  to.be  the  case  (that 
is  exceptin  pap  do  go  distracted  and  hunt  me  up  a  good  chance), 
you'll  be  married  and  forgot  it,  and  that  little  curly-headed  girl 
will  be  readin,  ritin  and  cypherin."  Miss  Pea  yawned  and  laughed 
slightly. 

"  Never,  never !  But  won't  you  let  your  little  boy  come  sometimes 
in  a  passing  hour  to  see  a  lonesome  girl,  who  once  was  your  friend, 
but  now,  alas  !'  abandoned  ?  " 

"  Angeline  Spouter,  do  hush." 

"  George,  it  is  very  warm  to-night     Is  it  late  ? " 

"I  should  —  think  —  it  was,"  answered  Miss  Pea,  and  snored. 

Miss  Spouter  lay  for  some  time  awake,  but  silent.     She  then  lifted 

the  curtain  from  the  window,  through  which  the  moon,  high  in  heaven, 

shone  upon  the  bed,  withdrew  from  her  cap  five  or  six  curls,  extended 

them  upon  her  snowy  breast,  smiled  dismally,  put  them  up  again,  looked 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL   SLACK.  105 

a  moment  at  her  companion,  then  abruptly  turned  her  back  to  her  and 
went  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  too  have  shared, 
The  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  we  havfe  spent 
When  we  .have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 
For  parting  us  —  O,  and  is  all  forgot?" 

Midsummer-Night's  Dream. 

But  friendship,  like  other  good  things,  has  enemies.  One  of  the  most 
dangerous  of  these  is  a  third  person.  These  beings  are  among  the  most 
■  inconvenient  and  troublesome  upon  earth.  Not  often  do  confidential 
conversations  take  place  in  a  company  of  three,  especially  conversa- 
tions appertaining  to  friendship  or  love.  When  sentiment,  hot  from 
the  heart,  Jias  to  move  in  triangles,  it  must  often  meet  with  hindrances 
and  cool  itself  before  it  has  reached  its  destination.  As  in  mathe- 
matics, between  two  points,  so  in  social  life  between  two  hearts,  the 
shortest  way  is  a  straight  line.  A  third  person  makes  a  divergence 
and  a  delay.  Third  persons  have  done  more  to  separate  very  friends 
and  lovers  than  all  the  world  besides.  They  had  gotten  between 
other  persons  before,  and  now  one  of  them  had  come  to  get  between 
Miss  Spouter  and  Miss  Pea. 

Adiel  Slack  had  left  his  native  Massachusetts,  and  from  going  to 
and  fro  upon  the  earth,  came  in  an  evil  day  and  put  up  at  the  inn  of 
Jacob  Spouter.  He  was  tall,  deep-voiced,  big-footed,  and  the  most 
deliberate-looking  man  that  had  ever  been  in  Dukesborough.  He  was 
one  of  those  imperturbable  Yankees  that  could  fool  you  when  you  were 
watching  him  just  as  well  as  when  you  were  not.  When  he  said  that 
he  was  twenty-eight  his  last  birth-day,  his  fresh-looking  hair,  his  un- 
wrinkled  and  unblushing  cheek,  and  his  entire  freedom  from  all  signs 
of  wear  and  care,  made  one  believe  that  it  must  be  so.  If  he  had  said 
that  he  was  forty-five,  the  gravity  of  his  countenance,  the  deliberation 
of  his  gait,  and  the  deep  worldly  wisdom  of  his  eye  would  have  made 
one  believe  that  he  spoke  truly. 

The  mere  arrival  of  such  a  person  in  that  small  community  must 
necessarily  create  some  stir.  He  was  decidedly  the  most  remarkable 
of  all  the  passengers  who  came  by  that  morning's  stage.  While  they 
14 


io6  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

ate  their  breakfast  with  that  haste  which  is  peculiar  to  the  travelling 
public,  he  took  his  time.  The  stage  went  away  and  left  him  at  the 
table  eating  his  fifth  biscuit,  while  Mrs.  Spouter's  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
him  with  that  steadfast  look  with  which  she  was  wont  to  regard  all 
persons  who  ate  at  her  table  more  than  she  thought  was  fair.  He 
took  another  biscuit,  looked  about  for  more  butter,  and  attempted  to 
open  a  conversation  with  that  lady ;  but  she  was  not  in  the  mood  to  be 
communicative,  so  he  set  to  the  work  of  studying  her.  He  made  her 
out  to  be  a  woman  of  a  serious  turn  of  mind,  less  attentive  to  dress 
than  her  husband,  but  at  the  same  time  aspiring,  and  possibly  with 
propriety  and  with  success,  to  be  the  head  of  the  family.  After  break- 
fast, he  stood  about,  sat  about,  picked  his  teeth  ("  with  a  ivory  lancet, 
blamed  if  it  weren't,"  Mr.  Spouter  said),  then  took  his  hat  and  strolled 
about  the  vill39:e  all  the  forenoon.  He  went  into  both  the  stores,  got 
acquainted  with  the  doctor,  and  the  blacksmith,  and  the  shoemaker, 
found  and  bargained  for  the  rent  of  a  room,  and  at  dinner  announced 
himself  a  citizen  of  Georgia  and  a  merchant  of  Dukesborough.  In 
less  than  a  week  a  small  stock  of  goods  had  arrived,  and  were  neatly 
arranged  in  the  room,  over  the  door  of  which  hung  a  sign-board,  painted 
by  himself,  which  made  Mr.  Boggs  and  Messrs.  Bland  &  Jones  wish 
either  that  they  had  never  had  sign-boards,  or  that  Adiel  Slack,  dry- 
goods  merchant,  had  never  come  there. 

Being  a  single  man,  Mr.  Slack  boarded  at  the  hotel  of  J.  Spouter. 
Now,  no  sooner  was  it  settled  that  he  was  to  become  a  citizen,  than 
Miss  Spouter,  according  to  ancient  usage  in  such  cases,  felt  herself  to 
be  yielding  to  the  insidious  influences  of  yet  another  love.  Who 
knew,  she  thought,  that  the  fond  dream  of  her  life  was  not  destined 
now  to  become  a  blissful  realisation  ?  The  fact  that  Mr.  Slack  had 
come  from  afar,  made  her  sentimental  soul  only  the  more  hopeful. 
How  this  was  so  she  could  not  tell ;  but  it  was  so,  and  the  good  girl 
began  at  once  to  bestow  the  most  assiduous  cultivation  upon  every 
charm  which  she  thought  she  possessed.  Mr.  Slack  soon  began  to  be 
treated  with  more  consideration  than  any  of  the  boarders.  He  had 
within  a  week  moved  from  Mr.  Spouter's  end  of  the  table  up  to  Mrs. 
Spouter's,  and  become,  as  it  were,  that  lady's  left  bower.  Miss  Angeline 
being,  of  course,  her  right.  The  hot  biscuit  were  always  handed  first 
to  him,  and  if  anybody  got  a  hot  waffle,  it  was  he.  People  used  to 
look  up  towards  Mrs.  Spouter  and  get  occasional  glimpses  of  little  plates 
of  fresh  butter  and  preserves  that  tried  to  hide  behind  the  castors  or 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL  SLACK. 


107 


the  candlestick.  When  there  was  pie,  Mr.  Slack  was  helped  first; 
because,  among  other  things,  he  was  the  more  sure  of  getting  another 
piece,  if  the  pie,  as  it  sometimes  would  happen,  in  spite  of  precaution, 
should  not  go  around  the  second  time. 

The  servants  did  not  like  him  because  he  never  gave  them  a  kind 
word  nor  a  cent  of  money.  But  let  any  one  of  them  omit  to  hand  the 
best  things  to  him  first.  Oh,  the  partiality  that  was  shown  as  plain  as 
day  to  that  man  !  Everybody  saw  it,  and  spoke  of  it  among  confidential 
friends.  Some  said  it  was  a  sin  ;  some  said  it  was  a  shame  ;  and  some 
went  so  far  as  to  say  it  was  both. 

Among  the  boarders  was  one  whom  we  have  seen  before.  For  Mr. 
Bill  Williams  had  now  been  installed  in  his  office,  and  had  already 
begun  to  take  new  responsibilities.  When  this  conduct  towards  the 
new-comer  had  become  notorious,  he  was  heard  by  many  persons  even 
to  swear  that  he'd  "  be  dinged  ef  he  had  had  a  hot  waffle,  even  when 
thar  was  wafiles,  sense  that  dadblasted  Yankee  had  moved  up  to  old 
Miss  Spouter's  eend.  As  for  the  second  piece  of  pie,  he  had  done 
gin  out  ever  hearin  of  the  like  any  more,  thro'out  the  ages  of  a  sorrow- 
ful and  ontimely  world."  He  spoke  with  feeling,  it  is  true  ;  but  he  was 
a  clerk  in  Mr.  Bland's  store,  and  he  thought  that  if  he  could  not  take 
some  responsibility,  the  question  was  who  could.  "  Consequenches 
mout  be  consequenches,"  said  Mr.  Bill,  "  be  they  now  or  at  some  futer 
day.  I  takes  the  responsibility  to  say  that  the  case  ar  a  onfair,  and 
a  imposition  on  the  boarders  and  on  the  transhent  people,  and  it  war 
also  a  shame  on  Dukesborough,  and  also  — "  Mr.  Bill  shook  his 
head  for  the  conclusion. 

But  in  spite  of  everybody  and  everything,  Mr.  Slack  kept  his  place. 
He  soon  discovered  Miss  Spouter's  weakness  and  her  passion.  Flatter- 
ing as  it  might  be  to  find  himself  the  favored  object  of  her  pursuit, 
yet  the  reflection  that  her  only  capital  was  a  head  of  curls  which  in 
time  would  fade,  caused  him  to  determine,  after  making  his  calculations, 
that  no  profit  was  to  be  netted  in  being  caught.  It  was  not  to  be  over- 
looked, however,  that  there  would  be,  if  not  an  entire  saving  of  expense, 
at  least  a  postponement  of  its  payment  in  keeping  his  thoughts  to 
himself  and  in  seeming  to  be  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  the  vortex 
which  was  ready  to  swallow  him  up.  The  terms  of  board  at  Mr. 
Spouter's  included  monthly  payments.  These  did  not  suit  calculations 
which  were  made  upon  the  principle  of  collecting  his  own  dues  at  once 
and  postponing  his  payments  as  long  as  possible,  and  if  possible,  to 


io8  UUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

the  end  of  time.  Now,  he  guessed  that  great  as  were  Mr.  Spouter's 
needs,  that  affectionate  father  would  not  be  the  man  to  run  the  risk  of 
driving  off  his  daughter's  suitor  by  worrying  him  with  dues  for  a  little 
item  of  board,  which  might  all  come  back  again  into  the  family.  In 
addition  to  this,  he  was  not  insensible  to  the  advantage  of  maintaining 
his  seat  at  the  dinner  table,  where  biscuits,  waffles  and  pies,  when  they 
came  at  all,  were  wont  to  make  their  first  appearance.  These  several 
matters,  being  actual  money  to  him,  were  not  to  be  overlooked  by  a 
man  who  did  nothing  without  deliberation.  After  deliberating,  there- 
fore, he  determined  to  so  conduct  himself  before  the  Spouters  as  to 
create  the  hope  that  the  time  would  come  when  he  would  solicit  the 
hand  of  her  who  long  had  been  willing  to  bestow  it  upon  somebody. 
But  he  was  careful  to  keep  his  own  advances  and  his  meetings  of  ad- 
vances without  the  pale  of  such  contingencies  as  he  had  learned  were 
accustomed  in  the  South  to  follow  breaches  of  marriage  contracts. 
If  there  was  anything  that  Mr.  Slack  was  afraid  of,  it  was  a  cane,  or 
perhaps  a  cowhide.  He  maintained  his  place  at  the  table,  therefore, 
and  took  what  it  afforded  in  the  manner  of  a  man  who  was  very  near  to 
being  one  of  the  family.  He  chatted  in  a  very  familiar  manner  with  Mrs. 
Spouter,  and  sympathised  with  her  and  Mr.  Spouter's  complaints  of 
the  high  price  of  everything  except  board.  He  lounged  in  the  parlor, 
where  he  told  to  Miss  Angeline  touching  stories  of  his  boyhood's  home. 
He  bestowed  due  admiration  upon  those  curls  which,  every  time  he 
saw  them,  reminded  him  of  a  portrait  of  his  mother  (now  a  saint  in 
heaven),  taken  when  she  was  a  girl  eighteen  years  old.  Then  he  spoke 
feelingly  of  how  he  had  been  a  wanderer,  and  how  he  began  to  think 
it  was  time  he  had  settled  himself  for  good  ;  how  he  had  never  felt 
exactly  ready  for  that  until  since  he  had  come  to  Dukesborough  ;  and 

how  —  and  how  —  and  how embarrassment  would   prevent  him 

from  saying  more.  But  whenever  he  got  to  this  point,  and  Miss  Ange- 
line's  heart  would  be  about  to  burst,  and  she  would  be  getting  ready 
to  cast  herself  upon  his  faithful  bosom,  he  would  change  abruptly, 
become  frightened,  and  go  away  and  stay  away  for  a  week. 

At  their  first  meeting  at  the  breakfast  table  after  such  scenes,  Miss 
Spouter  would  appear  quite  conscious,  hold  herself  yet  straighter,  and 
endeavor  to  show  that  she  had  spirit.  But  before  she  had  carried  it 
far,  she  would  conclude  to  stop  where  she  was,  go  back  and  begin 
again. 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL'  SLACK.  109 


CHAPTER  IV. 

But  while  these  things  were  going  on  among  the  Spouters,  what 
had  become  of  the  Peas  ?  Whoever  supposes  that  Miss  Georgiana 
was  buried  in  the  country  dead  or  alive,  is  simply  mistaken.  When 
she  heard  that  there  was  a  new  store  in  town  she  wanted  to  see  it ; 
and  when  Uncle  Ben  heard  that  it  was  kept  by  a  bachelor,  he  was 
determined  that  he  should  see  his  daughter ;  for  as  he  grew  older,  his 
anxiety  became  more  intense  for  Georgiana  to  find  somebody,  as  he 
expressed  it,  "to  take  keer  of  her  when  my  head  gits  cold."  He 
begged  her  several  times  to  go  before  she  was  ready. 
"  Georgy,  put  on  your  yaller  calliker,  and  go  long." 
"  Pap,  do  wait  till  I  get  ready.  I  do  believe  you  will  go  distracted." 
Georgiana  waited  until  she  got  ready,  and  when  she  did  get  ready 
she  went.  Her  plan  was  to  go  and  spend  the  night  with  Miss 
Spouter,  and  in  company  with  her  visit  the  new  store  the  next  morning. 
Some  persons  believe  in  presentiments,  and  some  do  not.  I  hardly 
know  what  to  think  of  such  things,  and  have  never  yet  made  up  my 
mind  whether  they  are  reliable  or  not.  Sometimes  they  seem  to  fore- 
shadow coming  events,  and  sometimes  they  are  clearly  at  fault.  I  have 
occasionally  had  dreams,  and  subsequent  events  were  in  such  exact 
sequence  with  them  that  I  have  been  inclined  to  accord  to  them  much 
of  the  importance  that  by  some  persons  it  is  maintained  they  have. 
Then  again,  the  dreams  I  have  had  (for  I  have  always  been  a  dreamer) 
have  been  so  entirely  unreasonable,  nay,  absurd,  and  even  ridiculous, 
as  to  be  impossible  of  fulfilment.  For  instance,  I  have  more  than  once 
dreamed  that  I  was  a  woman ;  and  I  have  since  been  much  amused  by 
the  recollection  of  some  of  the  strange  things  that  I  did  and  said  while 
in  that  estate.  I  do  not  consider  this  an  opportune  place  to  mention 
them,  even  if  they  were  worthy  of  mention  on  any  occasion,  and  I 
allude  to  them  for  the  purpose  of  saying  that  after  such  dreams  I  have 
been  disposed  to  reject  the  whole  of  the  theory  of  dreams. 

But  all  this  is  neither  here  nor  there.  The  divergence  from  my 
story,  though  natural,  cannot  with  propriety  be  farther  extended ;  and 
I  will  return  at  once  to  my  two  heroines,  in  whose  deportment  will  be 
found  the  reason  why  such  divergence  was  made. 

No  sooner  had  Miss  Spouter  determined  fully  in  her  mind  that  she 
would  catch   Mr.  Slack  if  she  could,  than  she  was  conscious  of  a 


no  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

wavering  in  her  friendship  for  Miss  Pea ;  for  she  felt  that  that  person 
was  destined  to  be  the  greatest,  if  not  the  only  barrier  between  her 
and  the  object  of  her  pursuit.  She,  Miss  Spouter,  had  seen  him  first, 
she  thought.  She  had,  as  it  were,  found  him,  and  when  George  was 
not  even  looking  for  any  such  property.  George  did  not  have  even  a 
shadow  of  the  remotest  claim  to  him.  It  was  wrong  and  unkind  in 
George  to  interfere.  She,  Miss  Spouter,  wouldn't  have  treated  her  so. 
Now  all  this  was  before  Miss  Pea  had  ever  laid  eyes  on  Mr.  Slack, 
and  Miss  Spouter  knew  it.  That  made  no  difference,  she  said  to 
herself.  If  anything,  it  made  it  worse.  She  was  hurt,  and  she  could 
not  help  it. 

Miss  Pea  might  have  had  a  presentiment  of  this  state  of  things,  and 
she  might  not.  But  at  all  events,  when  she  went  upon  her  visit  she 
carried  a  bucket  of  butter  as  a  present  to  Mrs.  Spouter.  It  was  just 
before  supper-time,  and  consequently  too  late  for  her  to  return  that 
evening.  If  it  had  not  been,  as  she  afterwards  declared  upon  her 
word  and  honor,  she  would  have  done  so.  The  Spouters  were  as  cold 
as  ice.  Not  even  the  bucket  of  butter  could  warm  Mrs.  Spouter  a 
single  degree.  Strange  conduct  for  her !  Miss  Angeline  at  first 
thought  that  she  would  not  go  in  to  the  supper  table.  But  then  that 
would  be  too  plain,  and  upon  reflection  she  thought  she  preferred  to 
be  there. 

Miss  Pea  and  Mr.  Slack,  of  course,  had  to  be  introduced.  He 
found  her  disposed  to  be  chatty.  Miss  Spouter  looked  very  grave, 
and  raised  her  pocket  handkerchief  to  her  mouth  as  an  occasional 
provincialism  fell  from  the  lips  of  her  country  visilress,  while  her  dear 
mother,  taking  the  cue,  would  glance  slyly  at  Mr.  Slack  and  snicker. 

"This  is  oncommon  good  butler,  Mrs.  Spouter,"  he  remarked  to  the 
lady' of  the  house;  and  oh,  the  quantities  of  butter  that  man  did  con- 
sume ! 

Now,  it  was  from  Miss  Pea's  bucket ;  they  did  not  like  to  confess  it, 
but  they  had  it  to  do. 

"  Want'  know !  Wal,  Miss  Pea's  mother  must  be  a  noble  house- 
keeper." 

Mrs.  Pea  had  been  dead  several  years. 

"  Dew  tell !     You,  then  t  " 

Miss  Georgiana  would  have  told  a  lie  if  she  had  not  acknowledged 
that  it  was. 

Mr.  Slack  bestowed  a  look  of  intense  admiration  upon  her,  which 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL   SLACK.  m 

made  Miss  Spouter  become  quite  grave,  and  her  mother  somewhat 
angry. 

After  supper  the  gentleman  follov/ed  the  ladies  into  the  parlor. 
Miss  Spouter  was  pensive,  and  complained  of  headache.  Miss  Pea 
did  not  believe  she  had  it,  and  therefore  she  spoke  freely  of  her 
father's  plantation,  of  what  he  was  to  her  and  she  to  him,  and  of  how 
he  was  always  urging  her  to  get  married,  a  thing  which  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  never  to  do.  When  they  retired  for  the  night,  Miss 
Spouter  being  no  better,  but  rather  worse,  they  did  what  they  had  never 
done  in  their  lives  before,  whenever  there  had  been  an  opportunity  of 
doing  differently  —  they  slept  apart.  This  was  capping  the  climax,  and 
Miss  Pea  went  home  the  next  morning,  asking  herself  many  times  on 
the  way  if  friendship  was  anything  but  a  name. 

It  seemed  to  be  a  sad  thing  that  these  young  ladies  should  part. 
Hand  in  hand  they  had  traveled  the  broad  road  of  life,  and  never 
jostled  each  other  when  men  were  plentiful.  But  these  animals  had 
broken  from  them  like  so  many  Vv'ild  cattle,  some  dodging  and  darting 
between  them,  some  takii)g  to  by-paths,  and  some  wildly  leaping  over 
precipices,  until  now  they  were  drawing  nigh  to  the  road  of  young 
womanhood,  and  there  was  but  one  left  for  them  both.  If  they  could 
have  divided  him  it  might  have  been  well ;  but  he  was  indivisible. 
The  fact  is,  Mr.  Slack  ought  never  to  have  come  there,  or  he  ought  to 
have  brought  his  twin-brother  with  him. 

*'  Wal,  Where's  your  friend  ?  "  he  inquired  at  breakfast. 

"  She's  gone  to  look  after  what  she  calls  her  father's  plantation,  I 
reckon,"  answered  Mrs.  Spouter,  sharply. 

"  Be  n't  her  father  got  no  plantation,  then  ?  " 

"  He's  got  a  little  bit  of  two  hundred  acres  of  tolerble  poor  land. 
That's  all  the  plantation  he's  got." 

"  Oh,  Ma  !  "  interceded  Miss  Angeline,  "  Georgiana  is  a  very  good 
girl." 

"  She  may  be  good,  but  if  you  call  her  a  girl  I  don't  know  what  you 
would  call  them  that's  fifteen  or  twenty  years  younger ;  and  if  she  is 
young  that  wouldn't  make  her  daddy  rich." 

"  Oh,  no  !  But,  oh.  Ma  !  "  Miss  Spouter  persisted  in  a  general  way, 
for  she  seemed  to  think  that  this  was  all  that  could  be  said  in  her 
favor.  Upon  reflection  she  asked  Mr.  Slack  if  he  did  not  think  Miss 
Pea  had  a  good  figger.  Then  she  took  a  very  small  sip  of  water,  wiped 
her  mouth  carefully  and  coughed  slightly. 


112  DUKESBOROUCH   TALES. 

"  Wal,  I  —  ah,"  began  Mr.  Slack,  but  Ma  laughed  so  immoderately 
that  he  laughed  too,  and  did  not  finish  giving  his  opinion  in  words. 
Alas,  for  Miss  Pea !  Big  as  she  was,  she  was  cut  all  to  pieces  and 
salted  away  by  Mrs.  Spouter,  while  Miss  Angeline  could  only  look  a 
little  reproachfully  now  and  then,  and  say  "  Oh,  Ma ! " 

"  Two  hundred  acres,"  mused  Mr.  Slack  on  his  bed  that  night.  "  In 
Maas'chewsetts  that  is  a  considerable  farm ;  other  property  in  propor- 
tion. What  would  it  bring  in  ready  money  if  the  old  man  (I  cal'late 
he's  old)  should  take  a  notion  tew  give  it  up  neowl  Already  some 
money.  He  brought  me  a  watermelon  this  morning,  and  asked  me  to 
go  out  and  see  them  all.  I'm  a  going.  Quick  work,  Adiel,  quick 
work." 

Mr.  Slack  was  a  hard  man  to  catch ;  it  had  been  tried  before  and 
had  failed.  Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Spouter  and  Miss  Spouter,  about  six 
weeks  later,  actually  caught  him  in  the  act  of  coming  away  from  Mr. 
Pea's.  What  made  it  worse,  he  had  a  bunch  of  pinks  in  his  hand. 
The  next  time  Miss  Spouter  met  Miss  Pea  she  did  not  speak  to  her. 
She  only  shook  her  curls  and  said  to  herself  in  words  which  were 
audible,  "  Such  is  life  !"  Georgiana  folded  her  hands  over  her  bosom 
and  asked,  if  friendship  was  anything  but  a  name,  what  was  it  ? 

But  the  man  maintained  his  place  at  the  table,  to  which  he  marched 
with  unusual  confidence  and  good  humor  at  the  first  meal  after  his 
detection  ;  what  is  more,  the  little  plates  maintained  their  places.  In 
spite  of  all  his  goings  to  the  Peas  and  his  returning  with  bunches  of 
pinks  in  his  hands,  his  deportment  in  any  other  respect  had  not,  at 
least  for  the  worst,  changed.  Indeed,  he  looked  oftener  and  more 
fondly  at  the  curls.  Yes,  thought  Miss  Spouter,  he  may  marry  her, 
but  the  image  of  Angeline  Spouter  is  in  his  breast,  and  it  will  stay 
there  forever.  But  for  her  entreaties  her  Ma  would  have  removed  the 
little  plates  and  sent  him  back  to  the  other  end  of  the  table,  where  he 
came  from. 

"  I'm  jest  the  woman  to  do  it,"  she  said.  "  That  long-legged  Yankee 
has  eat  more  than  his  worth  in  butter  alone.  The  house'll  break  or 
be  eat  up,  it  makes  no  difference  which,  and  nary  cent  of  money  has 
he  paid  yit.  Settle  hisself,  indeed  !  He'll  never  settle  his  nasty  self 
except  whar  thar's  money,  or  everlastin  butter,  and  he  not  to  pay  for 
it  neither.  And  I'll  move  them  plates  to-morrow  mornin.  If  I  don't 
you  may  —  " 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  A  DIET   SLACK.  113 

"  Oh,  Ma !  he  don't  love  her,  I  know  he  don't.  Let  them  stay  a 
while  longer." 

And  the  next  morning  the  little  plates  would  come  in,  take  their 
places  and  look  as  cheerful  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Mr.  Slack  did  a  cash  business.  Time  rolled  on  ;  the  faster  it  rolled 
the  cheaper  he  sold.  His  stock  dwindled,  and  everybody  asked  why 
it  was  not  being  replenished.  It  began  to  be  rumored  that  he  was 
going  to  buy  a  plantation  and  settle  himself.  The  rumor  was  traced 
to  Uncle  Ben  Pea.  Miss  Georgiana  was  asked  about  it  and  became 
confused. 

"  She  jest  as  well  a  give  it  up,"  said  Mr.  Bill  Williams,  at  Mr. 
Spouter's  table.  Mr.  Bill  was  gradually  edging  up  towards  "  quality 
eend,"  as  he  termed  the  head.  "In  fac,  she  did  give  it  up  fariy.  I 
axed  her  a  plain  question  ;  she  couldn't  say  nothin,  and  she  didn't. 
She  merrily  hung  her  head  upon  her  bres,  and  she  seemed  monsous 
comfortubble.  She  ar  evidently  scogitatin  on  the  blessed  joys  of  a 
futur  state." 

The  next  morning  the  little  plates  were  absent,  and  Mr.  Slack, 
without  seeming  to  notice  thai  Mr.  Bill  Williams  had  usurped  his 
place,  took  his  seat  by  Mr.Spouter  and  talked  with  him  in  the  manner 
of  a  man  who  had  been  on  a  journey  "of  some  weeks  and  had  now 
returned.  That  gentleman  did  not  seem  to  be  at  all  congratulatory  on 
the  occasion,  but  immediately  after  breakf^ist  brought  within  view  of 
his  guest  an  account  for  three  months'  board.  The  latter  looked  over 
it  carefully,  remarked  that  he  thought  it  was  correct,  begged  that  it 
might  be  considered  as  cash,  and  walked  away.  This  was  an  eventful 
day  to  Mr.  Slack,  for  besides  the  aforementioned  incident,  he  sold  out 
the  remainder  of  his  stock  to  Messrs.  Bland  &  Jones,  went  without  his 
dinner,  borrowed  a  gig  from  the  Justice  of  the  -Peace,  took  him  along 
with  him  to  Mr.  Pea's,  where,  at  three  o'clock  P.  M.  he  was  married  to 
Miss  Georgiana. 

"  Wretched  creature  !  "  exclaimed  Angelina,  the  forsaken,  when  her 
mother  informed  her  of  the  news  at  night.  At  first  she  thought  she 
would  faint ;  but  she  did  not.  She  retired  to  her  room,  undressed, 
looked  at  her  curls  in  the  glass  even  longer  than  was  her  wont,  put 
them  away  tenderly,  got  into  bed,  apostrophised  property  and  the  other 
sordid  things  of  this  world,  and  went  to  sleep  with  this  thought  upon 
her  mind :  "  Georgiana  Pea  may  be  by  his  side ;  but  the  image  of 
Angelina  Spouter  is  in  his  breast,  and  it  will  stay  there  forever." 
IS 


114  DUKESBOROUCII   TALES. 

CHAPTER  V. 

"Are  we  not  one?    are  we  not  joined  Ijy  Heaven?" 


Fair  Pknitent. 


Georgiana  was  married,  and  her  father  was  glad  of  it.  It  was 
what  he  had  wanted  long  to  see.  The  danger  of  going  distracted 
was  over.  He  was  happy ;  indeed,  jubilant.  For  the  truth  is,  he  had 
made  the  match.  He  and  Mr.  Slack  had  persuaded  and  begged,  and 
made  such  fair  promises,  that  she  had  been  won  rather  against  her 
judgment.  Uncle  Ben  at  one  time  would  have  preferred  a  Southern 
man  ;  but  all  of  that  class  had  shown  svich  a  want  of  sense  to  appreciate 
his  Georg)'  that  he  persuaded  himself  that  she  had  made  a  narrow  escape 
in  not  marrying  one  of  them.  Then  Mr.  Slack  had  come  from  such 
an  immense  distance,  and  knew  so  much,  and  talked  so  much,  that 
Uncle  Ben,  as  he  admitted,  was  actuall}'  proud  of  him.  He  maintained 
upon  the  day  of  the  marriage  that  Mas-sa-chn-sctts  was  the  biggest 
word  in  the  English  language.  But  Georgiana,  who  was  as  honest  and 
as  truthful  a  woman  as  was  in  the  world,  insisted  that  her  "  Pap  "  went 
too  far,  or  rather  that  he  did  not  go  far  enough,  and  that  Coh-stan-ti-no-ple 
was  a  bigger.  Uncle  Ben  didn't  like  to  have  to  give  it  up  ;  but  when  he 
found  out  from  Mr.  Slack  that  the  place  bearing  that  name  was  not  in 
this  country,  and  not  even  in  America,  he  and  Mr.  Slack  together  got 
Georgy  so  badly,  and  wound  her  up  so  completely  that  —  oh,  how  they 
all  did  laugh  and  go  on  !  The  truth  is  that  Uncle  Ben  was  rapidly 
lapsing  into  a  state  where  he  could  scarcely  be  considered  faithful  to 
his  native  section. 

Yet  in  spite  of  all  this,  his  son-in-law  had  some  ways  of  doing  and 
talking  that  he  did  not  quite  understand  ;  but  he  trusted  that  they 
would  wear  off  Georgy  now  had  a  husband  to  take  care  of  her  when 
his  head  got  cold ;  by  which  he  meant  to  signify  the  time  when  he 
should  be  a  dead  man.  She  did  not  seem  to  be  perfectly  happy,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  somewhat  ill  at  ease.  But  then  she  wasn't  any  young 
thing  to  let  getting  married  run  her  raving  distracted.  He  liked  Mr. 
Slack  upon  the  whole  ;  he  suited  him  well  enough,  and  that  is  what 
parents  generally  care  most  for.  He  was  a  business  man,  that's  what 
he  was.  He  talked  upon  business  even  on  the  afternoon  of  his  mar- 
riage, and  renewed  the  subject  after  supper  and  the  next  morning. 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  A  DIET   SLACK.  115 

One  would  have  thought,  to  hear  him  talk  about  business,  that  the 
honeymoon  had  shone  out  and  gone  down  long  ago.  It  did  not  look 
exactly  right ;  but  now  that  Mr.  Slack  was  a  married  man,  he  was  for 
making  something,  li /le  owned  the  farm,  he  should  do  this  thing  and  that 
thing  ;  sell  this  piece  of  property  and  convert  it  into  cash  ;  in  short,  he 
should  sell  out  the  whole  concern  and  go  where  land  was  cheaper  and 
better.  If  it  were  left  to  him,  he  should  turn  it  over  so  that  in  twelve 
months  it  should  be  worth  at  least  twice  as  much  as  it  was  now.  It  was 
very  clear  to  Uncle  Ben  that  his  son-in-law  was  a  business  man.  Still 
he  did  not  make  out  the  title-deeds.  Notwithstanding  his  hints  to  that 
effect  heretofore,  he  had  never  entertained  the  slightest  notion  of  such 
a  thing.  When  Mr.  Slack  persisted  in  saying  w'hat  he  should  do  if  he 
were  the  owner,  the  old  gentleman  took  occasion  to  say,  but  in  a  some- 
what jocose  way,  that  he  and  Georgy  would  have  to  wait  for  that  until 
his  head  got  cold  ;  which,  he  said  by  way  of  consoling  for  the  disap- 
pointment, wouldn't  be  much  longer.  Mr.  Slack  seemed  to  be  some- 
what hurt,  but  he  merely  remarked  that  he  had  a  plenty  to  live  on,  and 
that  all  he  wanted  with  property  was  for  Georgiana  to  enjoy  it.  He 
had  money  enough  to  buy  a  tract  of  land  adjoining  Mr.  Pea's,  and  two 
or  three  "  fellows. "  If  Georgiana  had  a  good  house-woman  it  would  save 
her  from  a  good  deal  of  work  which  now,  since  she  was  his  wife,  he 
would  rather  she  didn't  have  to  do  ;  but  —  ah  —  he  supposed  he  should 
have  to  wait  for  that. 

Yes,  but  he  needn't  do  any  such  thing,  Mr.  Pea  stoutly  maintained. 
Those  being  Mr.  Slack's  intentions,  the  'oman  should  be  bought.  The 
money  was  there  in  that  side-board  drawer  whenever  they  found  one 
to  suit  them.  He  should  buy  the  'oman  himself.  The  son-in-law's 
countenance  brightened  a  little.  He  might  have  to  go  to  Augusta  in 
a  few  days  ;  the  likeliest  gangs  were  there  generally  ;  and  it  might  suit 
just  as  well  to  take  the  money  along  with  him  and  buy  the  woman 
there.  Georgiana  didn't  say  anything  ;  but,  La  me  !  what  did  she  know 
about  business  ? 

Mr.  Slack  sent  into  the  village  every  day  for  the  mail,  for  Dukes- 
borough  being  immediately  on  the  great  line  of  travel,  had  its  daily 
mail.  He  had  been  married  just  two  days,  when  one  morning  a  letter 
was  brought  to  him  which  made  him  turn  a  little  pale.  Upon  his 
father-in-law's  inquiry  from  whence  it  came,  he  answered  after  a 
moment's  hesitation  that  it  was  from  a  man  who  owed  him  some 
mone}',  and  who  had  written  to  say  that  if  he  would  meet  him  the  next 


Il6  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

day  in  Augusta,  he  would  pay  him  a  hundred  dollars  and  renew  the 
note.  A  hundred  dollars,  indeed  !  The  rascal  had  promised  to  pay 
half  the  note,  and  now  as  he  was  about  settling  himself  he  was-  to  be 
put  off  with  a  hundred  dollars !  He  had  a  good  mind  not  to  go,  and 
would  not  but  for  the  importance  of  having  the  note  renewed.  But 
could  he  get  there  in  time  ?  How  was  that,  Mr.  Pea  ?  Why,  it  was 
easy  enough  ;  the  stage  would  pass  in  a  couple  of  hours,  and  as  it 
travelled  all  night,  he  could  reach  Augusta  by  nine  o'clock  the  next 
morning.  Mr.  Slack  hesitated.  He  was  loth  to  go  so  soon  after  being 
married ;  but  as  he  had  expected  to  go  in  a'  few  days  anyhow,  he 
guessed  he  had  as  well  go  on  at  once,  especially  as  negroes  seemed 
to  be  rising  in  price,  and  it  was  im.portant  to  get  the  woman  as  soon  as 
possible.  Certainly ;  business  was  business,  if  people  were  married. 
Mr.  Slack  ought  to  go  at  once  ;•  he  should,  if  it  was  him. 

Uncle  Ben  took  out  the  money,  and  Georgiana  ordered  lunch.  Mr. 
Slack  had  so  often  complained  of  the  old  gentleman's  time-piece  that 
the  latter,  upon  his  entreaties  to  be  allowed  to  take  it  with  him  for 
repairs  (at  no  expense  to  the  owner,  of  course),  consented.  The  man 
of  business  then  went  to  packing  his  trunk  and  satchel.  Although  he 
was  to  stay  but  three  days  at  furthest,  yet,  not  knowing  but  that  he 
might  need  them,  he  packed. in  all  his  clothes,  looking  about  all  over 
the  house  to  be  sure  that  he  had  not  mislaid  anything. 

It  was  a  nice  lunch.  It  ought  to  have  been,  for  it  took  a  long  time 
in  getting  ready.  Mr.  Slack  was  not  sure  that  he  was  going  to  get  his 
supper,  and  he  therefore  determined  to  put  away  enough  to  last  him  to 
the  end  of  his  journey.  He  had  barely  finished  Avhen  the  servant,  who 
had  been  stationed  to  watch  for  the  stage,  announced  that  it  was 
coming.  He  bade  bo.th  an  affectionate  adieu,  looked  into  the  stage  to 
see  if  there  was  any  person  in  it  whom  he  knew,  didn't  seem  to  be 
disappointed  that  there  was  not,  hopped  in,  and  off  he  went. 

Far  from  pining  on  account  of  the  absence  of  her  mate,  Georgiana, 
sensible  woman  that  she  was,  went  about  her  work  as  cheerfully  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  She  had  been  so  taken  up  with  Mr.  Slack  that 
several  small  domestic  matters  needed  to  be  put  to  rights  again,  and 
she  seemed  to  be  even  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  look  after  them. 
She  actually  sang  at  her  work ;  she  was  a  good  singer,  too.  The 
Peas  always  had  been :  I  knew  the  family  well.  Georgiana  wasn't 
going  to  fret  herself  to  death  ;  so  she  resumed  her  old  tasks  and 
habits,  moved  things  back  to  their  old  places,  and  in  every  respect 
did  as  if  she  had  forgotten  that  she  had  ever  been  married. 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL   SLACK.  117 

Uncle  Ben  was  glad  to  see  her  in  such  gay  spirits.  He  knew  what 
it  was  all  for,  and  he  laughed  inwardly  and  became  gay  himself.  It 
was  that  nigger  'oman.  The  old  man  counted  the  days  and  nights. 
As  much  as  he  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Slack,  he  wanted  yet  more  to  see 
his  watch  ;  without  it  he  felt  like  a  man  without  a  newly-amputated 
leg ;  but  he  would  not  allow  it  to  trouble  him  very  much.  He 
talked  a  great  deal,  especially  at  meal  times,  about  his  Georg}''s  pros- 
pects, joked  her  about  many  things,  talked  of  the  prospects  again,  and 
what  he  and  Mr.  Slack  were  going  to  do  to  make  her  the  happiest 
woman  in  the  world.  Geoigiana  never  suggested  any  change  of 
their  plans,  and  looked  as  if  she  intended  to  be  but  clay  in  their 
hands. 

Three  days  passed.  Mr.  Slack's  very  longest  time  was  out.  The 
stage  hove  in  view  ;  Mr.  Pea  was  at  his  gate  •  his  hat  was  in  his  hand. 

"Good  mornin.  Uncle  Ben,"  said  the  driver,  and  was  passing  on. 

"  Hello  !  hello,  Thompson  !  "  shouted  the  old  man.  Thompson  drew 
up. 

"  Haint  vou  got  Mr.  Slack  aboard?" 

"No,  Sir!" 

"  Haint  vou  got  a  nigger  'oman  .' " 

"No,  Sir." 

"  Whar's  Mr.  Slack  ? " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Haint  you  seed  him  ? '' 

"No,  Sir." 

"  Haint  vou  heern  of  him  ?  " 

"No,  Sir." 

"Why,  what  upon  yearth  does  it  mean.'" 

"  Mr.  Slack  didn't  go  to  nary  tavern,  but  got  off  at  a  privit  'ouse  way 
up  town.  I  haint  seed  him  nor  heern  from  him  sence.  Was  he  to  get 
back  to-night  ? " 

"Why,  yes,  certain  and  shore,  without  fail." 

"Well,  he  aint  here,  certin.     Good  evenin." 

"  He  haint  come,  Georg}-,"  said  Uncle  Ben  as  he  went  into  the 
house.  ' 

"Hasn't  he?" 

"Why,  no,  he  haint." 

"Well,  we  must  try  and  wait  till  he  does  come." 

Uncle  B  m  was  too  much  occupied  with  his  own  disappointment  to 


ii8  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

observe  the  equanimity  with  which  Georo;y  bore  hers.  It  was  now 
bed-time  ;  the  daughter  went  to  her  room  :  the  father  sat  up  at  least 
half  an  hour  longer  than  usual.  He  was  disappointed,  certain  and 
sure.  \Mien  people  told  people  they  were  coming  at  a  certain  time, 
people  wanted  'em  to  come  ;  especially  when  they  had  people's  watches. 
Oh,  how  he  had  missed  it !  If  he  had  missed  it  by  day,  he  had  missed 
it  as  much  by  night.  It  used  to  hang  by  a  nail  over  his  bed,  and  he 
longed  for  the  gentle  lullaby  of  its  tickings.  He  had  to  go  to  bed,  of 
course,  but  he  lay  awake  another  half  hour.  A  dreadful  thought  came  : 
What  if  Mr.  Slack,  after  all,  was  an  imposterer  !  Oh,  he  couldn't 
bear  it !  So  he  turned  over  and  went  to  sleep ;  but  it  w'ouldn't  stay 
behind,  it  crawled  over  and  came  close  to  him  in  his  sleep,  and  he 
dreamed  that  he  was  the  owner  of  a  jeweller's  shop,  and  that  while  he 
had  no  power  to  move,  thieves  wei-e  breaking  through  and  stealing. 

The  next  morning,  immediately  after  breakfast.  Uncle  Ben  stood  at 
his  gate.  He  had  a  notion  that  Mr.  Slack  was  coming  in  a  private 
convevance.  Sure  enough,  yonder  came  a  gig  with  a  man  in  it,  and  a 
horse  behind  with  something  on  the  horse.  Uncle  Ben's  eyes  were 
dim,  and  he  couldn't  make  it  "out ;  but  he  hoped  and  believed  that  it  was 
a  nigger  'oman.  Vain  hope  and  vain  belief!  The  gig  carried  Mr. 
Triplet,  the  sheriff,  and  the  horse  bore  Mr.  Bucket,  a  joung  lawyer 
from  tow^n.  Uncle  Ben  had  no  business  with  them  ;  so  he  bade 
them  a  good-morning  as  they  came  up,  and  again  turned  his  eyes 
up  the  road.  But  the  gentlemen  stopped  and  inquired  if  Mr.  Slack 
was  at  home.  No,  but  Mr.  Pea  looked  for  him  every  instant.  He 
had  been  gone  to  Augusty  three  days,  and  was  to  a  been  back  last 
night,  but  he  didn't. 

"Mr.  Triplet  looked  upon  Mr.  Bucket  and  smiled.  We  must  observe 
that  a  new  election  had  come  on,  and  Mr.  Triplet  had  beaten  Mr. 
Sanks.     Mr.  Bucket  looked  upon  Mr.  Triplet,  but  did  not  smile. 

"You  must  follow  him." 

"Them  must  some  foUer  him  that  kin  run  faster  than  I  kin," 
answered  Mr.  Triplet. 

"  Poller  who  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Bea. 

"  Mr.  Slack." 

"Why,  he'll  be  here  to-night.  Or  I'll  be  bound  he's  in  a  prnate 
conveyance,  and'U  be  here  this  mornin.  In  cose  he's  comin  back, 
becase  he's  got  four  hundred  dollars  of  my  money  to  buy  a  nigger 
oman  with,  and  my  watch  besides.     /;/  cose  he's  coming  back." 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL   SLACK.  119 

Mr.  Triplet  looked  upon  Mr.  Pea  and  smiled  compassionatel}-.  Mr. 
Pea  looked  upon  Mr.  Triplet  and  frowned  threateningly. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Jim  Triplet  ?  " 

"The  matter  ar,  that  you  won't  see  3^our  four  hundred  dollars  agin, 
nor  your  watch,  nor  the  gentleman  what  carried  'em  off." 

"  Why,  what  upon  yearth  is  you  talkin  about  1 " 

"  I  ar  talkin  about  the  business  of  my  office  ;  which  ar  to  arress  Mr, 
Adiel  Slack,  or  Mr.  Elishay  Lovejoy,  or  Mr.  Ephraim  Hamlin,  or 
what  mout  be  the  name  of  the  gentleman  that  carried  off  j^our  four 
hundred  dollars  and  your  watch." 

"  Don't  _  kick  before  you're  spurred.  Triplet ;  becase  nobody  aint 
accused  him  of  takin  the  money  and  watch  —  leastways  of  stealin  it. 
Mr.  Slack  is  a  honest  man  and  my  son-in-law ;  and  I  tell  you  he'll  be 
back  to-night,  and  I  look  for  him  every  minnit  of  the  day." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  us  if  he  do  come.  I  has  not  come  to  arress 
him  for  taking  of  the  money  and  the  watch,  which  is  misdemeanors 
that  I  didn't  know  tell  now.  But  he  is  charge  of  obtainin  credit  by 
false  pretensions,  of  stealin  divers  money,  of  tradin  with  niggers,  and 
finually,  with  marryan  three  wimming,  and  not  waitin  for  naiy  one  of 
'em  to  die  fust." 

"  Oh,  Lordy  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Pea.  He  then  approached  the  sheriff, 
and  in  a  tone  which  invited  candor  and  conlidence,  and  even  hinted 
at  gratitude,  said,  "  Jeems  Triplet,  I  voted  for  you :  you  know  I  did  ; 
I  always  has.     Ar  what  you  say  a  fac  .?  " 

"  I  know  you  did.  Uncle  Ben,  and  I  tell  you  the  plain  truth  — it  ar  a 
fac.  Thay  aint  no  doubt  about  it.  Mr.  Pucket  here  can  tell  you  all 
about  it." 

Mr.  Pea,  without  waiting  to  hear  further,  turned  and  got  into  the 
house  as  fast  as  he  could.  He  went  into  a  shed-room  with  uncommon 
desperation  for  a  man  of  his  years,  and  raised  ^is  hands  in  order  to 
take  down  a  shot-gun  from  two  forks  on  which  it  used  to  hang.  The 
forks  wer^  there,  but  the  gun  was  gone.  He  looked  at  the  forks  with 
the  most  resentful  astonishment,  and  with  a  voice  towering  with  passion 
asked  them  what  in  the  name  of  thunder  had  become  of  his  gun  ?  Not 
receiving  any  answer,  he  put  the  same  interrogatory  to  the  corner 
behind  the  door,  to  the  space  under  the  bed,  and  even  to  two  small 
glass  drawers,  after  opening  and  shutting  them  with  great  violence. 
He  then  ran  back  to  the  front  door  and  questioned  the  whole  universe 
on  the  subject. 


no  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  Robbed  !  robbed  ! !  "  roared  the  old  man.  "  Gen-tul-men,  ef  I 
aint  robbed  —  "  Mr.  Pea  had  not  "cussed  "  before  (as  he  afterwards 
declared  upon  his  word  and  honor)  "in  twenty  year." 

"Georgy!  Where's  Georg)^?"  It  just  now  occurred  to  him  that  it 
was  possible  Georgy  might  not  like  the  state  of  things  herself. 

Georgiana  had  been  at  the  dairy,  superintending  her  butter.  She 
had  seen  the  men  as  they  came,  had  gone  into  the  house  as  quietly  as 
she  could,  and  was  peeping  and  listening  through  the  window  of  her 
own  room. 

"  Pap,"  she  said,  not  loudly,  but  earnestly,  "  do  come  here,  if  you 
please." 

He  went  into  her  room. 

"  I  reckon  now  you're  satisfied.  He's  got  what  he  came  here  for  ; 
he's  stole  from  you,  and  he's  stole  from  me  ;  I  haint  got  a  pocket- 
handkerchief  to  my  name.  But  do,  for  goodness'  sake,  go  and  send 
them  men  away." 

"  Oh,  Lordy  !  "  reiterated  Mr.  Pea,  retiring.  "  Gen-tul-men,  it's  no 
use  :  we  are  cotcht ;  Georg}'  and  me  has  both  been  cotcht  —  I  acknow- 
ledge the  corn  ;  and  what  is  worser,  it  seem  that  I  am  the  cause  of  it 
all.  He  have  took  my  money  ;  he  have  took  my  watch  ;  he  have  took 
my  gun  ;  he  have  took  my  rumberiller  ;  and  da-ing  his  low-life  skin,  he 
have  even  took  Georgy's  pocket-handkerchers.  It  seem  like  he  jest 
picked  me  and  Georgy  out  for  all  his  rascalities.  And  to  think  that  I 
should  be  xused  of  it  all.  I  did  want  her  to  marry.  It  look  like  a 
pity  for  her  not  to  git  married.  And  now  she  is  married,  and  what 
have  she  married  1  A  nasty,  dad-blasted,  thievious  Yankee  ;  and  aint 
even  married  at  that !  She  is  married,  and  she  aint  married  ;  and 
she's  a  orphlin  ;  and  she's  a  widder ;  and  nobody  can't  tell  w^iat  she 
ar  and  what  she  aint ;  and  I  don't  understand  it ;  and  Georg}''s  name 
will  go  doiuji  to  ptBterity,  and  the  Peas  wont  be  nobody  any  more  ; 
and  —  oh,  Lordy  !  " 

"  Pap,  do  for  goodness  gracious'  sake  hush  and  come  in  the  house  !  " 
said  Georgiana,  advancing  to  the  front  door.  "  The  Lord  knows,  I'm 
glad  I  aint  married  ;  and  if  them  other  women  don't  grieve  after  him 
any  more  than  /grieve  after  him,  they've  done  forgot  him,  that's  all. 
Pap,  do  come  in  the  house." 

Mr.  Pea  subsided,  and  the  men  rode  away.  Mr.  Pucket  begged 
Mr.  Triplet  to  hasten ;  but  the  latter,  who  was  too  old  to  be  running 
for  nothing,  declared  in  round  terms  that  he'd  be  dinged  ef  he  did. 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL  SLACK.  12 1 

"I  wouldn't  a  made  myself  ridicerlous,  Pap,  before  company,  if  I'd 
a  been  in  your  place.  That  was  pretty  talk  to  have  before  men,  and  I 
in  the  house  hearin  every  word." 

Mr.  Pea,  hearing  himself  accused  of  a  new  crime,  couldn't  stand  it. 

"  I  do  believe  that  if  old  Saton  was  to  come,  it  would  be  me 
that  fotch  him  ;  or  leastways  sent  for  him ;  and  I'd  leave  he  had  a 
come  as  that  d-adblasted  Yankee.  Yes,  it's  me  :  in  cose  it's  me.  Any- 
thing wrong,  I  done  it ;  oh  yes,  in  cose  :  certing.  Whar's  my  hat  ? " 
And  the  good  man  sallied  forth  to  his  field,  where  he  remained  until 
dinner-time.  There  were  so  many  contending  emotions  in  his  breast 
that  he  ate  in  silence.  Georgiana  had  a  good  appetite  ;  she  ate  away 
with  a  gusto  and  eyed  her  father  amusedly. 

"  Pap,  if  I'll  tell  you  something  will  you  swear  you'll  keep  it.'" 

Uncle  Ben  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  and  gazed  at  her  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Wipe  your  mouth.  Pap,  and  tell  me  if  you'll  swear." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  he  demanded  authoritatively. 

"Will  you  swear,  I  asked  you.'"' 

"That's  a  mighty  pooty  question  for  a  child  to  ask  its  parrent." 

"Oh,  very  well."  And  she  helped  herself  again  from  her  favorite 
dish.     "Won't  you  have  some  more,  Pap  ?" 

"  Georgy,  what  does  you  mean  ? " 

"Will  you  swear?" 

"  No,  I  won't.  " 

"Oh,  very  well  then."     And  she  peppered  and  salted. 

"  Well,  I  never  'spected  to  come  to  this  while  my  head  was  hot.  My 
own  child:  that  I've  raised:  and  raised  respectable:  to  be  settin^thar, 
at  my  own  table  :  a  axin  her  own  parrent  to  swar :  jest  the  same  as  ef 
I  was  gwine  into  a  Free  Mason's  lodge :  which  she  knows  I  don't  hold 
with  no  sich." 

"  Pap,  I've  heard  you  often  talking  against  the  Free  Masons.  I  never 
thought  they  were  so  mighty  bad.  What  do  they  do  that  is  so  awful 
bad  ? " 

"You  don't,  do  you  ?  No,  I  suppose  you  don't ;  in  cose  you  don't : 
takin  arter  them  as  you  do :  in  cose  you  don't.  I  sposen  you'll  be  a 
jinin  'em  yourself  befo  long.  For  they  tells  me  they  takes  in  wimming 
too  ;  and  swars  thefn  ;  and  they  rips  and  rears  round  jest  like  the  men, 
and  car's  on  ginnilly.  Oh  no  :  in  cose  you  don't :  takin  arter  'em  as 
you  do." 
16 


122  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  might  do  after  what  I've  done  already.  But 
how  do  I  take  after  'em  ? " 

"  In  havin  o'  secrets  that's  a  sin  to  keep  ;  and  in  trying  to  make 
people  swar  that  they  won't  tell  'em  ;  and  not  even  to  their  own  par- 
rents.     That's  how  you  are  takin  arter  'em." 

."Oh,  yes,  I  see  now,"  she  said,  appearing  to  muse.  "Still,  this  is 
something  that  I  couldn't  tell  without  your  swearing  not  to  mention  to 
a  blessed  soul.     It's  worth  swearin  for.  Pap." 

The  old  man  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Arlit  anything  concernin  that  mean  runaway  Yankee  ? " 

"  If  it  is,  will  you  swear  ? " 

"Yes,  I  WILL,  and  cuss  too,  if  you  want  me.  I've  been  a  cussin  to 
myself  all  day  anyhow." 

"  You've  cursed  to  other  people  besides  yourself:  but  I  only  want 
you  to  swear." 

She  brought  the  family  Bible. 

"La,  Georgy !  is  you  in  yearnest,  sure  enough?  Why,  what  do  you 
mean?     You  aint  no  Jestice." 

It  made  no  difference  ;  she  made  him  place  his  hand  on  the  book 
and  swear  that  he  would  never  reveal  what  she  was  going  to  tell  him 
without  her  consent.  Uncle  Ben  was  very  solemn  while  the  oath  was 
being  administered.  It  required  several  minutes  to  impart  the  secret. 
When  it  was  over  the  old  man's  joy  was  boundless.  He  jumped  up  and 
ran  into  his  own  room,  where  he  cut  up  more  capers  than  any  one 
could  have  believed  that  he  could  cut  up ;  he  ran  back  again,  made 
Georgiana  rise  from  the  table,  hugged  her,  and  made  her  sit  down 
again  ;  he  rushed  to  the  front  door  and  huzzaed  to  the  outer  world  ; 
he  rushed  back  again  and  hugged  Georgy  as  she  sat.  Then  he  took 
his  seat  again  and  looked  upon  her  with  ineffable  admiration.  Sud- 
denly he  grew  serious. 

"  Oh,  Georgy,  now  if  I  only  had  —  " 

Before  he  could  speak  further  she  had  taken  something  from  her 
bosom,  and  handed  it  to  him.  He  seized  it  with  both  hands,  gazed 
at  it,  held  it  at  arm's  length  and  gazed  at  it,  opened  and  looked  into 
it,  shut  it  up  again,  held  it  for  a  moment  to  his  ear,  patted  it  gently, 
laid  it  on  the  table,  then  lifted  up  his  voice  and  wept. 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  A  DIET   SLACK.  123 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I  grant  I  am  a  woman. 

Julius  C^sar. 

When  the  news  of  Mr.  Slack's  escapade  reached  Dukesborough, 
there  was  running  to  and  fro.  Business  was  suspended.  Some  asked 
if  the  like  had  ever  been  heard  of;  others  asked  everj-body  if  they 
hadn't  told  him  so.  J.  Spouter  was  among  the  former,  and  Mr.  Bill 
Williams  among  the  latter.  He  got  leave  of  absence  from  the  store, 
in  order  to  roam  up  and  down  all  the  forenoon  for  the  purpose  of 
proving  that  he  had  prophesied  what  had  taken  place,  or  its  equivalent. 
He  was  delighted  :  my  observation  is  that  almost  everybody  is,  by  the 
verification  of  a  prophecy  which  he  has  made,  or  which  he  thinks  he 
has  made.  Miss  Spouter  tried  to  laugh,  but  she  didn't  make  much  out 
of  it.  Mrs.  Spouter  didn't  laugh  at  all.  How  could  she  when  she 
remembered  the  plates  of  butter  that  had  been  consumed,  not  only 
without  thanks  but  without  pay  ?  She  did  all  the  talking  in  the  domestic 
circle.  Mr.  Spouter  seemed  inclined  to  be  taciturn.  .  He  merely 
remarked  that  he  had  never  been  so  outed  in  his  born  days,  and  then 
shut  up.  But  then  Mr.  Spouter  never  had  much  to  say  when  Mrs. 
Spouter  had  the  floor ;  if,  however,  he  had  had  the  floor  now,  there 
was  nothing  for  him  to  say.  He  had  not  sued  his  debtor,  but  for 
reasons  other  than  the  being  a  merciful  creditor.  He  was  not  used  to 
such  things.  Indeed,  the  very  word  suit  was,  and  had  long  been, 
disagreeable  to  his  ear ;  so  much  so  that  he  had  never  gone  into 
court  of  his  own  accord.  It  was  one  of  his  boasts,  in  comparing 
himself  with  some  others,  that  he  had  never  been  plaintiff  in  an  action, 
and  never  expected  to  be.  He  always  discouraged  people  from  going 
to  law,  maintaining  that  people  never  got  much  by  going  there :  a 
remark  that  was  true  when  confined  in  its  application  to  those  who 
had  gone  there  carrying  him  with  them.  Yet,  Mr.  Spouter  seldom 
lost  a  bill.  It  was  always  a  wonder  to  me  how  rapidly  persons  in  his 
condition  could  collect  their  bills.  But  this  time  Mr.  Spouter,  as  he 
said,  was  "outed."  As  he  didn't  relish  Mr.  Bill  Williams'  jokes  ;  and 
as  Mrs.  Spouter  didn't,  and  at  last  as  Miss  Spouter  didn't,  Mr.  B. 
W.  had  to  suspend. 

Poor  Mr.  Pucket !  his  mind  had  been  set  upon  a  fee  ;  but  as  no  one 


124  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

could  be  found  who  could  run  faster  than  Mr.  Triplet,  and  as  the 
fugitive  had  three  days'  start,  there  was  no  pursuit.  None  but  a  brief- 
less lawyer  can  imagine  how  badly  Mr.  Pucket  felt. 

"  And'  so  she  isfl't  married  after  all !  "  said  Miss  Spouter  to  herself,* 
when  she  was  alone  in  her  chamber  that  night.  "  Not  married  after 
all ;  no  more  than  I  am.  Yes,  I  suppose  more  than  I  am  ;  because 
she  thought  she  was  married,  and  I  knew  I  wasn't.  That  makes  some 
difference  ;  and  then  —  and  then  — "  But  it  was  too  wonderful  for 
Miss  Spouter :  she  couldn't  make  it  out.  So  she  only  said,  "  Oh,  I 
wonder  how  she  feels  !  " 

Now,  there  was  but  one  way  to  get  the  desired  information,  and 
that  was  to  see  her  and  hear  it  from  her  own  mouth.  To  most  persons 
that  way  would  seem  to  be  barred,  because  the  last  time  the  two  ladies 
met,  Miss  Spouter  had  refused  to  speak.  But  it  did  not  seem  so  to 
her ;  she  would  herself  remove  all  obstacles.  She  would  forgive 
George  !  Yes,  that  she  would.  Wasn't  it  noble  to  forgive  ?  Didn't 
the  Bible  teach  us  to  forgive  ?  Yes,  she  would  forgive.  What  a  glory 
overspread  the  heart  of  the  injured  when,  in  that  tender  moment,  she 
found  she  could  forgive.  She  wished  now  that  she  had  gone  to 
Georgiana  to-day ;  she  would  go  to-morrow.  Malice  should  never 
have  an  abiding  place  in  that  heart.  It  might  have  it  in  other  people's 
hearts,  but  it  should  never  have  it  in  that  one.  Never,  no  never, 
while  memory  remains.  She  laid  herself  calmly  and  sweetly  upon  her 
bed,  and  was  forcibly  reminded,  as  she  thought  of  herself  and  her 
conduct,  of  the  beauty  and  the  serenity  of  a  summer's  evening. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"In  that  same  place  thou  hast  appointed  me, 
To-morrow  truly  will  I  meet  with  thee." 

Midsummer-Night's  Dream. 

Mr.  Pea  writhed  and  chafed  under  his  oath.  He  begged  his  Georgy 
to  let  him  tell  somebody.  He  swore  another  oath  —  that  he  should 
die  if  he  didn't.  He  did  tell  it  there  in  the  house  several  times  to 
imaginary  auditors,  after  looking  out  of  the  doors  and  windows  to  see 
if  no  real  ones  were  near.     Even  when  he  was  out  of  doors,  he  went 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL   SLACK.  125 

all  about  whispering  excitedly  to  himself,  occasionally  laughing  most 
tumultuously.     Georgiana  became  uneasy. 

"  Pap,  are  you  going  to  run  distracted  again  ? " 

"Georgy,  ef  I  don't  believe  I  am,  I'll  —  you  may  kill  me  !" 

Georgiana  had  to  yield.  She  wished  to  see  Mr.  Spouter  upon  a 
little  matter  of  business  connected  with  Mr.  Slack,  and  she  concluded 
to  consent  for  him  to  be  sent  for  and  her  father  to  inform  him  of  what 
she  saw  he  must  inevitably  tell  somebody.  The  old  man  was  extremely 
thankful,  but  he  wanted  to  make  a  request. 

"  Georgy,  you  must  let  me  send  for  Triplet.  I've  got  a  good  joke  on 
Triplet :  a  powerful  joke  on  him.  And  he's  a  officer,  Georgy,  too,"  he 
added,  seriously.  "Things  like  them,  when  they  ar  told,  ought  to  be 
told  befo  a  officer,  Georgy.  Triplet  is  a  officer.  This  case,  an  a  leetle 
more,  an  it  would  a  got  into  cote  ;  an  as  Triplet  ar  a  officer,  he  ought  to 
be  here,  in  cose."         . 

Georgiana  consented  on  hearing  this  last  argument.  But  she  ex- 
pressly enjoined  upon  her  father,  that  at  any  period  of  his  disclosures, 
when  she  called  upon  him  to  stop,  he  would  have  to  do  it.  He  promised 
to  obey  ;  and  the  servant  was  sent  into  Dukesborough  with  the  request 
that  Messrs.  Spouter  and  Triplet  should  come  out  the  next  morning  on 
particular  business.  Georgiana  knew  fully  what  she,  who  was  her 
friend,  but  now,  alas  !  abandoned,  was  thinking  about,  and  therefore  she 
was  included  in  the  summons. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  party  arrived.  Miss  Spouter  alighted  in 
great  agitation,  rushed  through  the  front  room  into  Georgiana's,  who 
was  there  waiting  for  what  she  knew  was  to  happen,  looked  all  around 
as  if  she  was  expecting  to  find  somebody  besides  Georgiana,  fell  upon 
her  in  the  old  way,  pronounced  her  pardon,  and  then  demanded  to  be 
told  all  about  it.  Oh,  my  !  Dreadful !  Did  ever  !  Vain  and  foolish 
man  !     How  did  Georgiana  feel  ? 

Georgiana  led  her  into  her  father's  room,  which  also  served  for  the 
parlor.  She  was  surprised  and  annoyed  to  find  Mr.  Pucket  there  with 
the  other  gentlemen.  Mr.  Pucket  had,  somehow,  gotten  the  wind  of 
it,  and  said  to  himself  that  he  didn't  know  what  might  happen.  He 
had  been  told  by  an  old  lawyer  that  the  only  way  for  a  young  man  to 
succeed  at  the  bar  was  to  push  himself  forward.  So  he  determined 
to  go,  and  he  went.  Uncle  Ben  was  glad  of  it.  He  was  going,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  to  make  a  speech  ;  and  he  wished  as  large  an 
audience  as  possible.  No,  no  ;  in  cose  there  wern't  no  intrusion,  and 
no  nothin  of  the  sort,  nor  nothin  else. 


126  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

Georgiana  sat  very  near  her  father. 

Then  Uncle  Ben  opened  his  mouth,  and  began  : — 

"  You  see,  gentul-men,  it  was  all  my  fault,  from  the  fust.  After 
Georg}'  seed  him  she  didn't  think  much  of  him.  She  said  she  didn't 
keer  about  marryin  nohow,  and  ef  she  did,  she  wanted  it  to  be  to  a 
Southering  man.  But  I  and  him  too,  we  overpersuaded  her.  He 
seemed  to  think  so  much  of  me  and  her  too ;  and  he  had  a  store,  and 
'peared  like  a  man  well  to  do.  And  I  did  want  to  see  my  only  daughter 
settle  herself.  The  feelin  is  nat'ral,  as  you  know  yourself,  Mr.  Spouter  ; 
all  parrents  that  has  daughters,  has  'em :  aint  it  so,  Mr.  Spouter?" 

Mr.  Spouter  answered  rather  by  his  manner  than  in  words.  Miss 
Spouter  became  confused,  and  didn't  look  at  Mr.  Bucket  when  he 
coughed.  Mr.  Triplet  had  seen  something  of  life  in  his  time :  still  he 
took  a  chew  of  tobacco. 

"  Go  on,  Bap,"  said  Georgiana. 

"Yes.  Well,  you  see,  gentulmen,  sich  it  war  —  anyhow  they  got 
married.  Georg)'  said  when  she  gin  her  consent  she  gin  it  to  keep  me 
from  runnin  distracted,  as  it  did  'pear  like  I  war.  Howbeever,  I  ar 
clean  out  o'  that  now.  Circumances  is  altered  powerful.  Well,  as  I 
said,  anyhow  they  got  married  —  that  is,  they  didn't  git  married ; 
because  he  were  already  married,  and  thay  warn't  no  law  for  it,  as  you 
know  yourself,  Mr.  Bucket,  thay  warn't.  But  —  ah  —  leastways  they 
went  throo  the — :ah  —  the  motions,  and  the  —  ah  —  gittin  out  lisens, 
and  the  —  ah — rstannin  up  in  the  floor  and  jinin  o'  hands;  and  he 
come  here  to  live.  Well,  now,  don't  j'ou  b'leeve  that  Georgy,  she 
spishuned  him  from  the  very  fust  day :  for  no  sooner  were  he  married 
hardly,  than  he  begun  to  sarch  behind  every  nuke  and  corner  about 
here,  and  before  night,  bless  your  soul,  he  knowed  more  about  whar 
things  was  in  this  house  than  I  did.  Leastways,  Georg)'  says  so, 
and  it's  obleeged  to  be  so  ;  for  there's  things,  many  of  'em  in  this 
house,  that  I  don't  know  whar  they  are."  And  Mr.  Bea  looked  around 
and  above,  taking  as  big  a  view  as  if  he  were  surveying  the  whole 
universe. 

"Well,  Georg)',  she  and  he  tuk  a  walk  that  fust  evenin.  Instid  of 
talkin  along  like  tother  folks  that's  jest  got  married,  he  went  right 
straight  to  talkin  about  settlin  hisself,  and  put  at  her  to  begin  right 
away  to  git  all  she  could  out'n  me ;  which  Georgy  she  didn't  like  no 
sich,  and  nobody  wouldn't  a  liked  it  that  thought  anything  of  herself. 
You  wouldn't,  Angeline  Spouter,  you  know  you  wouldn't,  the  very  fust 
day  you  was  married." 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL  SLACK.  12 7 

"Go  on,  Pap,  please." 

"  Yes.  Well,  Georgy  spishuned  him  again  at  supper,  from  the  way  he 
looked  at  the  spoons  on  the  table  ;  which  ef  they  had  a  been  the 
ginuine  silver,  they  wouldn't  a  been  in  this  house  now,  to  my  opinion ; 
probly  ;  leastways,  ef — "  Uncle  Ben  smiled,  and  concluded  to  post- 
pone the  balance  of  this  sentence. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Georgy  Ann,  arter  supper,  she  got  sick,  she  did,  and 
she  hilt  on  to  her  head  powerful.  In  cose,  bed-time,  hit  had  to  come 
arter  a  while.  When  hit  did  come,  she  were  wusser,  and  she  give  that 
feller  a  candle  to  go  long  to  bed.  When  Georgy  goes  to  bed,  she 
goes  on  throo  into  the  little  jinin  back  room  and  she  locked  the  door 
arter  her.  I  never  knowed  one  word  o'  this  untel  arter  he  went  off. 
Well,  arter  he  went  to  sleep,  Georgy  she  heerd  a  mighty  groanin.  So 
she  ups,  she  does,  an  onlocks  the  door,  and  creeps  in  mighty  sly.  It 
seem  like  he  were  dreamin  and  talkin  in  his  sleep  powerful.  He  called 
names,  sich  as  Jemimy,  Susan  Jane,  Betsy  Ann,  and  —  what  was  all 
them  names,  Georgy  ? " 

"  It  makes  no  difference,  Pap  ;  go  on." 

"  And  a  heap  more  of  'em.  Georgy  can  tell  you,  cose  she  heard 
'em  over  and  ofting.  Well,  he  seemed  to  be  powerful  shamed  of  all 
of  'em,  and  he  swore  he  wern't  married,  and  them  that  said  so  was  a 
liar,  and  all  sich.  Well,  sich  carrin  on  made  Georgy  b'leeve  that  he 
was  a  married  man  befo,  and  had  two  or  three  wives  already,  or  probable 
four  or  five.  *  And  so  Georgy  seed  righta^'ay  that  she  wasn't  no  wife  o' 
his'n,  and  didn't  have  no  intrust  in  no  sich  a  d-evil.  And  she  war 
right.  Triplet.     Triplet,  warn't  she  right  ?  " 

"  In  cose,"  answered  Mr.  Triplet.  » 

"Do  go  on.  Pap." 

"Well,  yes.  Yit  still  she  didn't  let  on.  She  kept  up  tolerble  well 
in  the  day-time,  but  when  night  come  agin,  Georgy  she  gits  sick  agin  and 
goes  into  the  jinin  little  room  agin.     I  never  seed  sich  carrin  on  befo." 

Uncle  Ben  had  to  stop  and  laugh  a  while.  Georgy  begged  him  to 
go  on. 

"  Well,  she  kep  on  hearin  him  a  goin  on,  and  you  think  she  would 
tell  me  the  fust  thing  o'  all  this?  Ef  she  had  a  told  me  —  howbeever, 
that  aint  neither  here  nor  thar.  Well,  it  seem  he  talked  in  his  sleep 
about  other  people  besides  wimming,  about  men  and  about  money,  and 
declared  on  his  soul  that  he  never  stole  it,  which  goes  to  show  Georgy 
that  he  war  a  rogue,  as  well  as  a  rascal  about  wimming.     Yit  in  this 


128  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

time  he  begin  to  hint  even  around  me  about  propert)^,  and  even  insini- 
vated  that  he  would  Uke  to  have  the  whole  plantation  and  all  that's  on 
it !  "  Mr.  Pea  showed  plainly  by  his  manner,  after  making  this  last 
remark,  that  no  man  had  ever  had  an  ambition  more  boundless  than 
the  late  MrT  Slack.  "  But  I  mighty  soon  give  him  to  understand  that 
he  war  barkin  up  the  wrong  tree  ef  he  thought  I  was  gwine  to  give 
up  this  plantation  and  viy  property  before  my  head  got  cold.  Them's 
always  fools  that  does  it.  Howbeever,  he  talked  so  much  about  settlin 
hisself,  and  so  easy  and  good  about  Georg}',  and  how  that  all  he  keered 
about  property  was  for  her,  and  I  knowed  that  was  all  /keered  about  it 
for,  that  I  told  him  I'd  pay  for  a  nigger  'oman  for  'em.  Well,  you  see, 
I  no  sooner  says  that  than  he  ups  with  a  lie  about  havin  to  go  to  Augusty. 
But  shore  enuff,  arter  he  had  been  here  two  days,  he  had  to  go  too 
August}^-,  or  somewhar  else.  Becase  he  got  a  letter  which  skeered  him 
powerful,  and  he  said  he  war  goin  right  off.  I  didn't  spishun  nothin 
agin  the  man,  and  I  lets  him  have  the  money  to  buy  the  nigger  'oman.  I 
had  no  more  spishun  of  him,  Jeems  Triplet,  than  I  have  of  you,  only 
knowin  that  he  was  monstrous  fond  of  money,  which  is  all  right  enough 
ef  a  man  comes  by  it  honest.  Well,  Georgy  she  was  tuk  back  tremen- 
duous  by  his  gittin  the  money  so  all  on  a  sudding.  Yit  she  didn't  let  on, 
but  makes  out  like  she's  mighty  sorry  he  war  goin  so  soon,  but  mighty 
glad  he's  goin  to  fetch  her  a  nigger  'oman  when  he  come  back.  She  has 
him  got  a  mighty  good  snack  of  vittles,  and  what  ain't  common  for 
dinner,  she  puts  on  the  tabla  a  plate  of  nice  fresh  butter  and  a  plenty 
of  biscuit,  Triplet."  Mr.  Pea  now  looked  as  sly  and  as  good-humored 
as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  be.  "  Triplet,  I've  got  a  good  joke  on 
you." 

Mr.  Triplet  seemed  to  guess  what  it  was,  and  smiled  subduedly. 

"  You  know  what  you  said  about  my  never  seein  certing  people  and 
certing  things  —  certing  property  no  more  ?  " 

Mr.  Triplet  acknowledged  that  he  did. 

"  Well,  Triplet,  part  of  it  was  so  and  part  of  it  were  not  so  ;  all  which 
both  is  jest  as  I  wants  it  to  be.  Triplet,  that  butter  and  them  biscuit 
is  what  saved  me.  He  never  expected  to  eat  no  more  tell  he  got  to 
Augusty,  and  I  tell  you  he  hung  to  that  butter  and  them  biscuit.  While 
he  was  at  'em,  and  Georg)'  she  made  'em  late  a  comin  in  a  purpose, 
she  takes  some  old  keys  which  she  had  picked  up,  and  finds  one  that 
could  onlock  his  peleese  whar  she  seed  him  put  the  money,  and  whar 
she  knowed  he  kep  all  he  had." 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL  SLACK.  129 

Uncle  Ben  intended  to  laugh  mercilessly  at  Triplet,  but  he  was 
stopped  by  the  sight  of  Mr.  Packet,  who  did  look  as  if  he  was  trying 
to  swallow  something  that  was  too  big  for  his  throat. 

"  Ar  anything  the  matter  with  you,  Mr.  Pucket .''  Is  you  got  a  cold  ? 
Ar  your  thoat  so'  ?  "  asked  the  old  gentleman,  with  undisguised  interest. 

Triplet  snickered  as  Mr.  Pucket  denied  being  sick. 

Uncle  Ben  proceeded : 

"  So  she  jest  opened  it  sly  as  a  mice  and  tuk  out  my  money  —  " 

"  And  what  else  ?  "  eagerly  asked  Mr.  Pucket. 

"  My  watch,  that  the  villion  beg  me  to  let  him  take  with  him  to  have 
it  worked  on,  which  I  didn't  like  no  —  " 

"  What  else  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Pucket  again. 

"That's  the  last  pint  I'm  a  comin  too,  and  that's  why  Georgy  sent 
arter  Mr.  Spouter.  She  knowed  that  he  owed  Mr.  Spouter  thirty 
dollars,  and  she  made  up  her  mind  to  pay  the  debt  as  now  she  seed 
his  money,  and  she  tuk  out  thirty  dollars  o'  his  money,  which  here  it 
ar  for  you,  Mr.  Spouter." 

"  I  garnishee  the  thirty  dollars ! "  interposed  Mr.  Pucket,  holding  out 
his  hands. 

"  You  are  too  late,"  answered  Mr.  Spouter,  taking  the  money,  putting 
it  into  his  pocket,  and  looking  as  if  he  had  gotten  in  again  after  being 
outed  by  Mr.  Slack. 

"  Can't  I  garnishee.  Triplet  ?  " 

"  Garnishee  for  what  ?  " 

"  For  my  fee  ?  " 

"  Fee  for  what  t " 

"  Why,  for  my  services  in  —  ah  —  coming  out  here  on  two  occasions." 

"Well,  you  can't  garnishee." 

Mr.  Triplet  looked  as  if  he  was  ashamed  of  Mr.  Pucket.  Uncle 
Ben  hoped  there  was  goin  to  be  no  bad  feelins,  and  no  difficulties. 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Mr.  Triplet.  "  Mr.  Pucket  ar  a  young 
lawyer,  and  forgot  at  the  minnit  that  it  war  other  people  that  owed  him 
for  his  services  instid  of  Mr.  Slack.  Besides,  furthermo,  Mr.  Pucket 
ought  to  know  that  you  can't  garnishee  jest  dry  so,  without  fust  gittin 
out  some  sort  o'  paper  from  the  cote.  That  would  take  so  much  time 
that  Spouter  here  mout  spend  his  thirty  dollars  befo  he  got  it,  that 
is  ef  Spouter  wanted  too."  Mr.  Triplet  looked  interrogatively  at  the 
other  gentleman. 

"  Yes,  ef  I  wanted  too,"  answered  Mr.  S.,  oracularly, 
17 


I30  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  But,"  persisted  Mr.  Pucket,  "  there  was  other  moneys." 

"Whar?"  asked  Mr.  Triplet. 

"  In  Mr.  Slack's  trunk." 

"  No  thay  wan't,"  answered  Mr.  Pea,  who  thought  he  ought  to  keep 
Mr.  Pucket  to  the  true  word.     "They  was  in  his  peleese." 

"Well,  in  his  peleese.  That  makes  no  difference,"  and  Mr.  Pucket 
looked  as  if  he  thought  he  had  them  on  that  point. 

"Pucket,"  said  Triplet,  "it  won't  make  no  difference.  You  are 
right.  It  don't  make  nary  bit  o'  difference  with  nobody,  ner  with  your 
fee  neither.  That  fee  ar  a  lost -ball.  Thay  aint  no  money  here  to  pay 
it  with,  an  ef  there  was,  it  would  be  Mr.  Slack's  lawyer  and  not  you 
that  would  git  it.  Well,  gin  it  up,  and  another  time  try  to  have  better 
luck." 

Mr.  Pucket  7aas  a  young  lawyer,  and  was,  in  part,  owned  by  Mr. 
Triplet.  So  he  subsided.  Uncle  Ben  looked  troubled,  until  the 
sheriff"  assured  him  that  there  could  be  no  difficulties.  "  Go  on.  Uncle 
Ben.     You  got  your  gun,  of  course  ?  " 

"Triplet,  you  rascal!  You  may  laugh  ;  but  I  don't  want  the  gun. 
He  may  keep  it,  and  do  what  he  pleases  with  it,  even  to  blowin  out  his 
own  thievious  brains  with  it  for  what  I  keer.  He's  welcome  to  the  gun. 
You,  Triplet  !  " 

"  Don't  mind  me.  Uncle  Ben.     Go  on." 

"  Well,  thar's  lots  more  to  tell,  ef  Georg\'  would  only  let  me ;  and 
some  things  as  would  make  you  laugh  powerful.  Triplet,  ef  you  was  to 
hear  'em.  But  she's  made  me  swar,  actilly  swar,  that  I  won't  tell  with- 
out her  leave.  Maybe  she'll  tell  your  ole  'oman  some  o'  these  days. 
Well,  I  felt  mighty  glad  when  I  got  my  money  back,  and,  ef  anything, 
a  leetle  gladder  when  I  got  back  my  watch  agin.  Triplet,  when  I 
seed  her  "  (and  the  old  man  drew  out  a  watch  as  big  and  as  round  as 
a  turnip),  "  when  I  seed  her  agin,  ef  I  didn't  cry  you  may  kill  me.  I've 
had  her  thirty  year,  and  none  o'  your  new-fangled  ones  can  beat  her 
runnin  when  you  clean  her  out  and  keep  her  sot  right  with  the  sun. 
Ah,  well,"  he  continued,  putting  it  back  and  shaking  his  foot  in  mild 
satisfaction,  "  the  thing  is  over,  and  the  best  of  it  all  ar  that  —  " 

"  Hush,  Pap,"  said  Georgiana,  raising  her  finger. 

The  old  man  smiled,  and  hushed. 

After  hearing  parts  of  the  story  over  several  times,  the  part}-  rose  to 
gOi  Mr.  Triplet  rising,  said  that  in  cose  it  war  not  any  of  his  bisiness, 
but  he  would  like  to  ax  Miss  Georgy  one  question,  ef  he  wouldn't  be 


THE  PURSUIT  OF  MR.  ADIEL  SLACK.  131 

considered  as  meddlin  with  what  didn't  belong  to  him  ;  and  that  was, 
why  she  didn't  tell  on  the  \illion  as  soon  as  she  found  him  out? 
Georgiana  answered : 

"  Well,  Mr.  Triplet,  I  many  times  thought  I  would  ;  but  you  see  I 
didn't  know  for  certain  that  he  had  done  all  the  things  that  I  was  afraid 
he  had.  Besides,  Mr.  Triplet,  even  if  he  wasn't  my  husband,  I  one 
time  thought  he  was,  and  before  God  and  man  I  had  promised  to  be 
faithful  to  him.  And  then  he  had  stayed  in  this  house  :  and  eat  at  our 
table  :  and  — .  and  called  Pap  father,  and  —  and  — and  —  Well,  Mr. 
Triplet,  somehow  it  didn't  look  right  for  me  to  be  the  first  one  to  turn 
against  him  ;  and  —  and  when  I  did  think  of  telling  on  him,  something- 
would  rise  up  and  tell  me  that  I  ought  not." 

"Wimming  aint  like  men  nohow.  Uncle  Ben,"  said  Triplet,  wiping 
his  eye  as  he  bade  him  good-bye. 

"  No  they  aint.  Triplet,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  fondly  on  his  daughter's 
shoulder  while  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

The  visitors  now  left,  all  except  Miss  Spouter.  She  wished  to  get 
behind  the  scenes  and  know  more.  How  much  more  she  learned  I 
cannot  say.  They  went  to  bed  early  when  the  day  ended,  and  to  sleep 
late.  There  was  something  which  made  them  easily  reunite.  It  was 
pity.  Miss  Spouter  imagined  that  she  pitied  her  friend  because  she 
had  been  deceived  by  a  man,  even  more  than  herself  had  ever  been, 
and  because  of  the  hurtful  influence  which  that  deception  would 
probably  exert  upon  any  future  expectations  of  marriage.  Miss  Pea, 
who,  instead  of  having  any  regrets,  felt  relief  in  the  thought  that  hence- 
forth her  father  would  be  satisfied  to  allow  her  to  manage  such  matters 
for  herself,  and  that  she  should  be  satisfied  to  have  none  to  manage, 
really  pitied  her  friend  because  she  yet  yearned  for  an  impossible 
estate.  When  the  time  came  for  them  to  go  to  sleep  (and  Georgiana 
thought  it  long  coming),  she  did  not  wait  a  moment.  Miss  Spouter 
lay  awake  some  time  further.  She  pondered  long  on  what  she  had 
heard.  It  was  strange.  It  was  almost  like  a  novel.  How  could 
George  be  still  the  same  Georgiana  Pea  ?  She  had  been  Mrs.  Slack. 
Wasn't  she  Mrs.  Slack  now  ?  And  how,  oh  !  how  exciting  everything 
must  have  been.  Her  thoughts  followed  Mr.  Slack  a  while ;  but  he 
was  so  far  away  that  they  came  back  and  went  looking  after  Mr.  Bill 
Williams.  He  was  not  much ;  but  he  was  something.  He  had  never 
exhibited  any  regard  for  her  yet,  but  it  was  possible  that  he  would 
some  day.     He  was  at  least  ten  years  younger  than  herself.     But  her 


132  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

curls  were  the  same  as  ever ;  and  besides,  were  not  marriages  made  in 
heaven  ?  or  were  they  not  a  lottery,  or  something  of  the  sort  ?  Mr. 
Bill  Williams,  after  all,  might  be  the  very  one  to  whom  the  something 
in  her  alluded  when  it  had  so  repeatedly  told  her  that  she  was  destined 
to  make  some  man  so  happy ;  who  knows  ?  Then  her  mind  turned 
again,  and  notwithstanding  Mr.  Slack's  great  distance  ahead,  it  started 
forth  in  the  direction  he  had  taken.  She  dwelt  upon  his  strange  conduct 
and  his  running  away,  and  although  it  was  plain  that  he  had  done  the 
like  before,  and  when  he  had  never  seen  her  nor  heard  of  her,  yet  she 
half  persuaded  herself  that  she  was  the  cause,  though  the  perfectly 
innocent  cause  of  it  all.  "  Yes,  yes  !  "  she  was  saying  to  herself,  as 
sleep  stole  upon  her  at  last,  "  he  is  gone  ;  but  the  image  of  Angelina 
Spouter  is  in  his  breast,  and  it  will  stay  there  forever ! " 


THE  EARLY  MAJORITY  OF  MR.  THOMAS 

WATTS. 


"O  'tis  a  parlous  boy." 

Richard  III. 

LITTLE  TOM  WATTS,  as  he  used  to  be  called  before  the  unex- 
pected developments  which  I  propose  briefly  to  narrate,  was  the 
second  in  a  family  of  eight  children,  his  sister  Susan  being  the  eldest. 
His  parents  dwelt  in  a  small  house  situate  on  the  edge  of  Dukes- 
borough.  Mr.  Simon  Watts,  though  of  extremely  limited  means,  had 
some  ambition.  He  held  the  office  of  constable  in  that  militia  district, 
and  in  seasons  favorable  to  law  business,  made  about  fifty  dollars  a 
year.  The  outside  world  seemed  to  think  it  was  a  pity  that  the  head 
of  a  family  so  large  and  continually  increasing  should  so  persistently 
prefer  mere  fame  to  the  competency  which  would  have  followed  upon 
his  staying  at  home  and  working  his  little  field  of  very  good  ground. 
But  he  used  to  contend  that  a  man  could  not  be  expected  to  live 
always,  and  therefore  he  ought  to  try  to  live  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave 
to  his  family,  if  nothing  else,  a  name  that  they  wouldn't  be  ashamed 
ever  to  hear  mentioned  after  he  was  gone. 

Yet  Mr.  Watts  was  not  a  cheerful  man.  Proud  as  he  might  justly 
feel  in  his  official  position,  it  went  hard  with  him  to  be  compelled  to  live 
in  a  way  more  and  more  pinched  as  his  family  continued  to  multiply 
with  astonishing  rapidity.  His  spirits,  naturally  saturnine,  grew  worse 
and  worse  with  every  fresh  arrival  in  the  person  of  a  baby,  until  the 
eighth.  Being  yet  a  young  man,  comparatively  speaking,  and  being 
used  to  make  calculations,  the  figures  seemed  too  large  as  he  looked 
to  the  future.     I  would  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  this  prospect 


134  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

actually  killed  him  ;  but  at  any  rate  he  took  a  sickness  which  the 
doctor  could  not  manage,  and  then  Mr.  Watts  gave  up  his  office  and 
everything  else  that  he  had  in  this  world. 

But  Mrs.  Watts,  his  widow,  had  as  good  a  resolution  as  any  other 
woman  in  her  circumstances  ever  had.  She  had  no  notion  of  giving 
up  in  that  way.  She  gave  up  her  husband,  it  is  true ;  but  that  could 
not  be  helped _:  and  without  making  much  ado  about  even  that,  she 
kept  going  at  all  sorts  of  work,  and  somehow  she  got  along  at  least  as 
well  after  as  before  the  death  of  Mr.  Simon. 

A  person  not  well  acquainted  with  the  brood  of  little  Wattses  often 
found  difficulty  in  discriminating  among  them.  I  used  to  observe 
them  with  considerable  interest  as  I  went  into  Dukesborough  occa- 
sionally with  one,  or  the  other,  or  both  of  my  parents.  They  all  had 
white  hair,  and  red  chubby  faces.  It  was  long  a  matter  of  doubt  what 
was  their  sex.  Such  was  the  rapidity  of  their  succession,  and  so 
graduated  the  declivity  from  Susan  downwards,  that  the  mother  used 
to  cut  all  their  garments  after  a  fashion  that  was  very  general,  in  order 
that  they  might  descend  during  the  process  of  decay  to  as  many  of 
them  as  possible.  Now,  although  I  saw  them  right  often,  I  had 
believed  for  several  months,  for  instance,  that  little  Jack  was  a  girl, 
from  a  yellow  frock  that  had  belonged  to  his  sister  Mary  Jane,  but  which 
little  Jack  wore  until  his  legs  became  subjected  to  such  exposure  that 
it  had  to  descend  to  Polly  Ann,  his  next  younger  sister.  Then  I 
made  a  similar  mistake  about  Polly  Ann ;  who,  during  this  time,  had 
worn  little  Jack's  breeches,  out  of  which  he  had  gone  into  Mary  Jane's 
frock ;  and  I  thought  on  my  soul  that  Polly  Ann  was  a  boy. 

In  regard  to  little  Tommy,  not  only  I,  but  the  whole  public  had 
been  in  a  state  of  uncertainty  in  this  behalf  for  a  great  length  of  time. 
Having  no  older  brother,  and  Susan's  outgrown  dresses  being  alone 
available,  his  male  wardrobe  was  inevitably  only  half  as  exten- 
sive and  various  as  by  good  rights,  generally  speaking,  it  ought  to 
have  been.  Therefore  little  Tommy  had  to  make  his  appearance 
alternately  in  frock  and  breeches,  according  to  the  varying  conditions 
of  these  garments,  for  a  period  that  annoyed  him  the  more  the  longer 
it  extended,  and  finally  began  to  disgust.  Tom  eagerly  wished  that 
he  could  outgrow  Susan,  and  thus  get  into  breeches  out  and  out.  But 
Susan,  in  this  respect,  as  indeed  in  almost  ail  others,  kept  her  distance 
in  the  lead. 

There  was  a  difference,  easily  noticeable,  in  Tom's  deportment  in 


THE  EARLY  MAyORITY  OF  MR.  THOMAS  WATTS.   135 

these  seasons.  While  in  frocks  it  was  subdued,  retiring,  and,  if  not 
melancholy,  at  least  fretful.  Curiosit}^,  perhaps,  or  some  other  moti\"e 
equally  powerful,  might,  and  indeed  sometimes  did,  lead  him  outside  of 
the  gate  ;  but  never  to  linger  there  for  any  great  length  of  time.  If 
he  had  to  go  upon  an  errand  during  that  season  (a  necessity  which 
that  resolute  woman,  his  mother,  enforced  without  the  slightest  hesita- 
tion), he  went  and  returned  with  speed.  Yet,  before  starting  out  on 
such  occasions,  he  was  wont  to  be  careful  to  give  his  hair  such  a  turn 
that  his  manly  head  might  refute  the  lie  which  Susan's  frock  had  told. 
For  it  is  probable  that  there  have  been  few,  if  indeed  any  boys  who 
were  more  unwilling  either  to  be,  or  to  be  considered  of  the  opposite 
sex  than  that  same  Tom  Watts.  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen 
a  boy  whose  hair  had  so  high  and  peculiar  a  roach  as  his  exhibited, 
especially  when  he  wore  his  sister  Susan's  frocks.  Instead  of  being 
parted  in  the  middle,  it  was  divided  into  three  parts.  It  was  combed 
perfectly  straight  down  on  the  sides  of  his  head,  and  perfectly  straight 
up  from  the  top.  An  immense  distance  was  thus  established  between 
the  extremities  of  any  two  hairs  which  receded  contiguously  to  each 
other  on  the  border  lines. 

All  this  was  an  artful  attempt  to  divert  public  attention  from  the 
frock  which  intimated  the  female,  to  tlie  head  which  asserted  and 
which  was  supposed  to  establish  the  male.     He  once  said  to  Susan : 

"When  they  sees  your  old  frock,  they  makes  out  like  that  they 
'spicions  me  a  gal ;  but  when  they  looks  at  my  har  all  roached  up, 
then  they  knows  who  I  air." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  answered  Susan,  "and  a  sight  you  air.  Goodness 
knows,  I'd  rather  be  a  girl,  and  rather  look  like  one  if  I  vv'eren't,  than 
to  look  like  you  do  in  that  fix." 

But  it  was  during  the  other  season,  that  which  he  called  his  breeches 
week,  that  Tommy  Watts  was  most  himself  In  this  period  he  was 
cheerful,  bold,  and  notorious.  He  was  as  often  upon  the  street  as  he 
could  find  opportunities  to  steal  away  from  home ;  and  while  there,  he 
was  as  evidently  a  boy  as  was  to  be  found  in  Dukesborough  or  any 
other  place  of  its  size.  In  this  happy  season  he  seemed  to  be  disposed 
to  make  up  as  far  as  possible  for  the  confinements  and  the  gloomi- 
nesses of  the  other.  So  much  so,  indeed,  that  he  had  to  be  whipped 
time  and  time  again  for  his  unlicensed  wanderings,  and  for  many  other 
pranks  which  are  indeed  peculiar  to  persons  of  his  age  and  sex,  but 
which  he  seemed  to  have  the  greater  temptation  to  do,  and  which  he 


136  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

did  with  more  zest  and  temerity  than  other  boys,  because  he  had  only 
half  their  time  in  which  to  do  them.  Tom  Watts  maintained  that  if  a 
boy  was  a  boy,  then  he  ought  to  be  a  boy ;  and  as  for  himself,  if  he 
had  to  be  a  girl  a  part  of  the  time,  he  meant  to  double  on  them  for 
the  balance.  By  them  he  meant  his  Mammy,  as  he  was  wont  to  call 
his  surviving  parent.  But  she  understood  the  method  of  doubling  as 
well  as  he ;  for  while  she  whipped  him  with  that  amount  of  good-will 
which  in  her  judgment  was  proper,  she  not  unfrequently  cut  short  his 
gay  career  by  reducing  him  to  Susan's  frock,  or  (if  it  was  not  ready 
for  the  occasion)  to  his  own  single  shirt.  On  such  occasions  he  would 
relapse  at  once  into  the  old  melancholy  ways.  If  Thomas  Watts  had 
been  fomiliar  with  classical  history,  I  have  not  a  doubt  that,  in  these 
periods  of  his  humiliation,  he  would  have  compared  his  case  with  that 
of  the  great  Achilles  whose  mother  had  him  kept  in  inglorious  seclu- 
sion amid  the  daughters  of  Lycomedes.  Yet,  like  that  hero  further  in 
being  extremely  imprudent,  no  sooner  would  he  recover  his  male  attire 
than  he  would  seem  to  think  that  no  laws  had  ever  been  made  for 
him,  and  would  rush  headlong  into  difficulties  and  meet  their  con- 
sequences. Tom,  as  his  mother  used  to  say,  was  a  boy  of  a  "  tremen- 
juous  sperrit."  But  it  had  come  from  her,  and  enough  had  been  left 
in  her  for  all  domestic  purposes.  In  every  hand-to-hand  engagement 
between  the  two,  Thomas  was  forced  to  yield  and  make  terms  ;  but  he 
resolved  over  and  over,  and  communicated  that  resolution  to  many 
persons,  that  if  he  ever  did  obtain  his  libert)^,  the  world  should  hear 
from  him.  His  late  father  having  been  to  a  degree  connected,  as  we 
remember,  with  the  legal  profession,  Tom  had  learned  one  item  (and 
that  was  probably  the  only  one  that  he  did  learn  sufficiently  well  to 
remember)  of  the  law :  that  was,  that  young  men  of  fourteen  who  had 
lost  their  fathers  might  go  into  court  and  choose  their  own  guardians, 
and  do  other  things  besides.  How  he  did  long  for  that  fourteenth 
birthday !  The  more  he  longed  for  it  the  longer  it  seemed  in  coming. 
He  had  gotten  to  believe  that  if  it  ever  should  come,  he  would  have 
lived  long  enough  and  had  experience  enough  for  all,  even  the  most 
difficult  and  responsible  purposes  of  human  life. 

But  events  that  must  come  will  come,  if  we  will  only  wait  for  them. 
In  process  of  time,  which  to  the  hasty  nature  of  Tom  seemed  un- 
reasonably and  cruelly  long  in  passing,  he  seemed  to  emerge  from 
the  frock  for  good  and  all.  The  latest  inducement  to  a  preparation 
for  this  liberty  was  a  promise  that  it  should  come  the  sooner  provided 


THE  EARLY  MAJORITY  OF  MR.  THOMAS  WATTS.   137 

he  would  improve  in  the  care  that  he  was  wont  to  take  of  his  clothes, 
for  he  had  been  a  sad  fellow  in  that  item  of  personal  economy.  When 
this  inducement  was  placed  before  him,  he  entered  upon  a  new  career. 
He  abjured  wrestlings  with  other  boys,  and  all  other  sports  and 
exercises,  however  manly,  which  involved  either  the  tearing  of  his 
attire  or  contact  with  the  ground.  He  even  began  to  be  spruce  and 
dandyish,  and  the  public  was  astonished  to  find  that  in  the  matter  of 
personal  neatness  Tom  Watts  was  likely  to  become  a  pattern  to  all 
the  youth  of  Dukesborough  and  its  environs.  His  roach  grew  both 
in  height  and  in  sleekness ;  and  when  his  hat  was  off  his  head,  Tom 
Watts  was  the  tallest-looking  boy  of  his  inches  that  I  ever  saw. 

Resolute  as  was  the  Widow  Watts,  she  had  respect  for  her  word,  and 
was  not  deficient  in  love  for  her  offspring.  Besides,  it  was  getting  to 
be  high  time  for  Tom  to  go  to  school,  if  he  ever  was  to  go.  Now,  in 
a  school,  I  maintain,  if  nowhere  else,  it  is  undeniably  to  be  desired 
that  everybody's  sex  should  be  put  beyond  doubt.  Even  a  real  girl  in 
a  school  of  boys,  or  a  real  boy  in  a  school  of  girls,  it  is  probable 
would  both  feel  and  impart  considerable  embarrassment.  This  would 
doubtless  be  much  increased  in  case  where  such  a  matter  was  in  doubt. 
There  is  no  telling  what  a  difference  an  uncertainty  in  this  behalf 
would  make,  not  only  in  the  hours  of  study,  but  even  to  a  perhaps 
greater  extent  in  those  of  play.  I  have  lived  in  the  world  long  enough 
to  feel  justified  in  sajdng  that  suspicions  and  doubts  are  more  effica- 
cious than  facts  in  producing  embarrassments  and  alienations.  Oh ! 
it  is  no  use  to  say  anything  more  upon  the  subject.  Mrs.  Watts  had 
sense  enough  to  have  respect  for  public  sentiment ;  and  when  Tom 
was  ready  for  school,  Susan's  frock  had  to  be  laid  aside.  However, 
Mary  Jane,  who  was  a  fast  grower,  went  into  it,  with  the  taking  of  only 
a  little  tuck,  and  nothing  was  wasted. 

Tom  Watts,  therefore,  avowedly  and  notoriously,  for  good  and  for 
all  and  forever,  became  a  boy.  When  he  stepped  out  of  Susan's 
frock  for  the  last  time,  and  stepped  into  a  new  pair  of  trowsers  which 
had  been  made  for  the  purpose  of  honoring  the  occasion,  he  felt  himself 
to  be  older  by  many  years  ;  and  if  not  as  sleek,  was  at  least  as  proud 
as  any  snake  when,  with  the  incoming  Spring,  he  has  left  his  old  skin 
behind  him  and  glided  into  the  sunlight  with  a  new  one. 

The  neat  habits  which  he  had  adopted  from  policy,  he  continued  to 
practise,  to  his  mother's  great  delight.     It  was  really  a  fine  thing  to 
observe  the  care  he  took Vith  his  clothes ;  and  the  manly  gait  he  as- 
18 


138  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

sumed  would  have  led  unthinking  persons  almost  to  conclude  that  the 
having  been  confounded  so  long  with  the  other  sex  had  begotten  a 
repugnance  for  the  latter  which  might  never  be  removed.  Such  was 
the  rapidity  of  his  strides  towards  manhood,  that  some  females  of  his 
acquaintance  not  unfrequently  spoke  of  him  as  Mr.  Thomas  Watts  ; 
while  others  went  further,  left  off  the  Thomas  altogether  and. called 
him  Mr.  Watts. 

But  time,  which  is  ever  making  revelations  that  surprise  mankind, 
was  not  slow  to  reveal  that  Mr.  Watts  had  not  yet  been  fully  under- 
stood. He  had  been  going  to  school  to  Mr.  Cordy  for  several  weeks 
in  the  winter,  and  was  believed  to  be  making  reasonable  progress.  He 
had  now  passed  his  thirteenth  year,  and  had  gone  some  distance  upon 
his  fourteenth.  He  had  long  looked  to  that  day  as  the  commence- 
ment of  his  majority.  A  guardian  (or  as  he  was  wont  to  say,  a 
gardzeen)  was  an  incumbrance  which  he  had  long  determined  to  dis- 
pense with.  This  was  not  so  much,  however,  because  there  would  be 
not  a  thing  for  such  an  official  to  manage  except  the  person  of  Mr. 
Thomas  himself,  as  that  he  had  no  doubt,  not  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  in 
fact,  that  such  management  would  be  more  agreeable,  more  safe,  and 
in  every  way  better  in  his  own  hands  than  in  those  of  any  other  person 
of  his  acquaintance. 

Mr.  Cordy's  school  was  in  a  grove  of  hickory  and  oak  at  the  end  of 
the  village  opposite  to  the  one  at  which  Mrs.  Watts's  cabin  stood.  At 
the  hither  end  of  this  grove  was  another  small  school  of  girls,  kept  by 
Miss  Julia  Louisa  Wilkins.  She  was  from  Vermont,  and  was  a  young 
lady  of  about  twenty-eight  years,  very  fair,  somewhat  tall,  and  upon 
the  whole  a  rather  good,  certainly  a  cheerful-looking  face.  For  I 
should  remark  that  Dukesborough,  which  ever  held  Augusta  in  view, 
had  in  the  pride  of  its  ambition  abolished  the  system  of  mixed  schools, 
and  though  the  number  of  children  was  rather  limited  to  allow  of 
great  division,  still  Dukesborough  would  have,  and  did  have,  two 
institutions  of  learning.  Miss  Wilkins  had  under  her  charge  about 
fifteen  girls,  ranging  from  eight  years  old  to  fourteen.  Prominent 
among  them  were  Miss  Adeline  Jones,  Miss  family  Sharp,  Miss 
Lorinda  Holland,  Miss  Jane  Hutchins,  and  Mr.  Watts's  elder  sister, 
Susan. 

Mr.  Watts's  relations  to  this  Institution  (for  it  was  thus  that  the 
mistress  insisted  that  her  establishment  sheuld  be  styled)  seemed  to 
have  been  started  by  accident.     One  mor/ing,  as  with  lingering  but 


THE  EARLY  MAJORITY  OF  MR.  THOMAS  WATTS.    139 

not  unmanly  steps  he  was  passing  by  on  his  way  to  his  own  school, 
he  spied  Miss  Wilkins  through  the  window  in  the  act  of  kindling  a 
fire.  As  her  face  was  turned  from  him  he  had  the  opportunity,  and  he 
used  it,  to  observe  her  motions  for  several  moments.  Whether  because 
the  kindling  wood  was  damp,  or  Miss  Wilkins  was  not  expert,  I  would 
not  undertake  at  this  late  day  to  say.  But  the  fire  would  not  make  a 
start ;  and  the  lady,  apparently  bent  upon  getting  warm  in  some  way, 
threw  down  the  tongs,  gave  the  logs  a  kick,  and  abruptly  turned  her 
back  upon  the  fire-place.  Observing  Mr.  Watts  at  that  instant,  and 
possibly  suspecting  that  he  was  a  person  of  an  accommodating  disposi- 
tion, she  requested  his  assistance.  He  yielded  promptly,  and  it  did 
Miss  Wilkins  good  to  see  how  quickly  the  blaze  arose  and  the  genial 
warmth  radiated  through  the  room.  The  artificial  heat  at  once 
subsided,  and  she  smiled  and  thanked  him  in  a  way  that  could  not 
soon  be  forgotten.  Then  she  inquired  his  name,  and  was  surprised 
and  gratified  to  know  that  so  manly  a  person  as  he  was  should  be  the 
brother  of  one  of  the  best  and  most  biddable  girls  in  her  school. 

This  accident,  trifling  in  appearance,  led  to  consequences.  Mr. 
Watts  had  frequent  opportunities  of  rendering  this  same  service,  and 
others  of  an  equally  obliging  nature.  These  gave  him  access  to  the 
Institution  in  its  hours  of  ease  ;  and  the  care  that  he  took  of  his  clothes, 
and  the  general  manners  that  he  adopted,  were  reaching  to  a  height 
that  approached  perfection.  If  the  roach  on  the  summit  of  his  head 
was  not  quite  as  high  as  formerly  (a  depression  caused  by  his  having 
now  a  hat  to  wear),  it  was  not  any  less  decided  and  defiant. 

Yet,  he  never  seemed  disposed  to  abuse  his  privileges  at  the  Institu- 
tion of  Miss  Wilkins.  Although  he  was  there  very  often,  he  usually 
had  little  to  say  to  any  of  the  young  ladies,  and  seemed  to  try  to  have 
the  utmost  respect  for  all  the  mistress's  rules  and  regulations  in  regard 
to  the  intercourse  of  her  pupils  with  the  opposite  sex.  It  must  be 
admitted  that  Mr.  Watts  had  not  advanced  lately  in  his  studies  to  the 
degree  that  was  promised  by  his  opening  career.  But  Mr.  Cordy  was 
a  reasonable  man,  and,  upon  principle,  was  opposed  to  pushing  boys 
along  too  fast.  Mrs.  Watts,  although  not  a  person  of  education  herself, 
yet  suspected  from  several  circumstances  that  her  son  was  not  well 
improving  the  little  time  which  she  could  afford  to  send  him  to  school. 
But  his  deportment  was  such  an  example  to  the  younger  children  that 
she  had  not  the  heart  to  complain,  except  in  a  very  general  way. 

Of  all  persons  of  Mr.  Watts's  acquaintance,  his  sister  Susan^was  the 


140  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

only  one  who  seemed  to  fail  to  appreciate  his  manly  habits.  She  used 
to  frown  dreadfully  upon  him,  even  when  he  seemed  to  be  at  his  very 
best.  Sometimes  she  even  broke  into  immoderate  laughter.  While 
the  former  conduct  had  no  influence,  the  latter  used  to  affect  him 
deeply.  He  would  grow  very  angry,  and  abuse  her,  and  then  become 
even  more  manlike.  But  when  Susan  would  think  that  he  was  carrying 
matters  into  extremes,  she  would  check  him  somewhat  in  this  wise : 

"  Now  lookee  here,  Tom  ;  if  you  talk  to  me  that  way,  I  shall  tell 
Ma  what's  the  matter  with  you  ;  and  if  you  don't  quit  being  such  a 
man,  and  stop  some  of  your  foolishness,  I'll  tell  her  anyhow." 

Threats  of  this  sort  for  a  time  would  recall  Mr.  Watts  at  least  to  a 
more  respectful  treatment  of  his  sister.  Indeed,  he  condescended  to 
beg  her  not  to  mention  her  suspicions,  although  he  assured  her  that 
in  these  she  was  wholly  mistaken.  But  Susan  did  know  very  well 
what  he  was  about,  and  it  is  probable  that  it  is  high  time  I  should  ex- 
plain all  this  uncommon  conduct.  The  truth  is,  Susan  had  ascertained 
that  so  far  from  ha\'ing  the  repugnance  to  ladies  that  had  been  feared 
at  first  might  grow  out  of  his  remembrance  of  the  long  confusion  of 
the  public  mind  touching  his  own  sex,  Mr.  Thomas  Watts  had  already 
conceived  a  passion  that  was  ardent,  and  pointed,  and  ambitious  to  a 
degree  which  Susan  characterised  as  "perfectly  redickerlous." 

But  who  was  the  young  lady  who  had  thus  concentrated  upon  herself 
all  the  first  fresh  worship  of  that  young  but  manly  heart  ?  Was  it  Miss 
Jones,  or  Miss  Sharp  ?  Was  it  Miss  Holland,  or  Miss  Hutchins  ? 
Not  one  of  these.  Mr.  Thomas  Watts  had  with  one  tremendous 
bound  leaped  clear  over  the  heads  of  these  secondary  characters,  and 
cast  himself  at  the  very  foot  of  the  throne.  To  be  plain,  Mr.  Watts 
fondly,  entirely,  madly  loved  Miss  Julia  Louisa  Wilkins,  the  mistress 
and  head  of  the  Dukesborough  Female  Institution. 

Probably,  this  surprising  reach  might  be  attributed  to  the  ambitious 
nature  of  his  father,  from  whom  he  had  inherited  this  and  some  other 
qualities.  Doubtless,  however,  the  recollection  of  having  been  kept 
long  in  frocks  had  engendered  a  desire  to  convince  the  world  that 
they  had  sadly  mistaken  their  man.  Whatever  was  the  motive  power, 
such  was  the  fact.  Now,  notwithstanding  this  state  of  his  own  feelings, 
he  had  never  made  a  declaration  in  so  many  words  to  Miss  Wilkins. 
But  he  did  not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  she  thoroughly  understood  his 
looks,  and  sighs,  and  devoted  services.  For  the  habit  which  all  of  us 
have  of  enveloping  beloved  objects  in  our  hearts,  and  making  them,  so 


THE  EARLY  MAJORITY  OF  MR.  THOMAS  WATTS.    141 

to  speak,  understand  and  reciprocate  our  feelings,  had  come  to  Mr. 
Watts  even  to  a  greater  degree  perhaps  than  if  he  had  been  older. 
He  was  as  little  inclined  and  as  little  able  to  doubt  Miss  Wilkins  as  to 
doubt  himself  Facts  seemed  to  bear  him  out.  She  had  not  only 
smiled  upon  him  time  and  time  again,  and  patted  him  sweetly  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  and  praised  his  roach  to  the  very  skies ;  but  once, 
when  he  had  carried  her  a  great  armful  of  good,  fat  pine-knots,  she 
was  so  overcome  as  to  place  her  hand  under  his  chin,  look  him  fully 
in  the  face,  and  declare  if  he  wasn't  a  man,  there  wasn't  one  in  this 
wide,  wide  world. 

Such  was  the  course  of  his  true  love  when  its  smoothness  suffered 
that  interruption  which  so  strangely  obtrudes  itself  among  the  fondest 
affairs  of  the  heart.  Miss  Susan  had  threatened  so  often  without  fulfil- 
ment to  give  information  to  their  mother,  that  he  had  begun  to  presume 
there  was  little  or  no  danger  from  that  quarter.  Besides,  Mr.  Watts 
had  now  grown  so  old  and  manlike  that  he  was  getting  to  be  without 
apprehension  from  any  quarter.  He  reflected  that  within  a  few  weeks 
more  he  would  be  fourteen  years  old,  when  legal  rights  would  accrue. 
Determining  not  to  choose  any  "  gardzeen,"  it  would  follow  that  he 
must  become  his  own.  Yet  he  did  not  intend  to  act  with  unnecessary 
notoriety.  His  plans  were,  to  consummate  his  union  on  the  very  day 
he  should  be  fourteen  ;  but  to  do  so  clandestinely,  and  then  run  away, 
not  stopping  until  he  should  get  with  his  bride  plump  into  Vermont. 
For  even  the  bravest  find  it  necessary  sometimes  to  retreat. 

Of  the  practicability  of  this  plan  he  had  no  doubt,  because  he  knew 
that  Miss  Wilkins  had  five  hundred  dollars  in  hard  cash  —  a  whole 
stocking  full.  This  sum  seemed  to  him  immensely  adequate  for  their 
support  in  becoming  style  for  an  indefinitely  long  period  of  time. 

As  the  day  of  his  majority  approached,  he  grew  more  and  more 
reserved  in  his  intercourse  with  his  family.  This  was  scarcely  to  be 
avoided  now  when  he  was  already  beginning  to  consider  himself  as 
not  one  of  them.  If  his  conscience  ever  upbraided  him  as  he  looked 
upon  his  toiling  mother  and  his  helpless  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
knew  that  he  alone  was  to  rise  into  luxury  while  they  were  to  be  left 
in  their  lowly  estate,  he  reflected  that  it  was  a  selfish  world  at  best, 
and  that  every  man  must  take  care  of  himself  But  one  day,  after  a 
season  of  unusual  reserve,  and  when  he  had  behaved  to  Miss  Susan  in 
a  way  which  she  considered  outrageously  supercilious,  the  latter  availed 
herself  of  his  going  into  the  village,  fulfilled  her  threat,  and  gave  her 
mother  full  information  of  the  state  of  his  feelings. 


142  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

That  resolute  woman  was  in  the  act  of  ironing  a  new  homespun 
frock  she  had  just  made  for  Susan.  She  laid  down  her  iron,  sat  down 
in  a  chair,  and  looked  up  at  Susan. 

"  Susan,  don't  be  foolin  "long  o'  me." 

"Ma,  I  tell  you  it's  the  truth." 

"  Susan,  do  you  want  me  to  believe  that  Tom's  a  fool  ?  I  know'd  the 
child  didn't  have  no  great  deal  of  sense ;  but  I  didn't  think  he  was  a 
clean-gone  fool." 

But  Susan  told  many  things  which  established  the  fact  beyond 
dispute.  In  Mr.  Thomas's  box  were  found  several  evidences  of  guilt. 
There  was  a  great  red  picture  of  a  young  woman,  on  the  margin  of 
which  w^as  written  the  name  of  Miss  Julia  Louisa  Wilkins.  Then 
there  was  wrapped  carefully  in  a  rag  a  small  piece  of  sweet  soap,  which 
was  known  by  Susan  to  have  been  once  the  property  of  Miss  Wilkins. 
Then  there  were  sundry  scraps  of  poetry,  which  were  quite  variant  in 
sentiment,  and  for  this  and  other  reasons  apparently  not  fully  suited 
for  the  purposes  for  which  they  were  employed.  Mr.  Watts's  acquain- 
tance with  amatory  verses  being  limited,  he  had  recourse  to  his  mother's 
hymn-book.  Miss  \\'ilkins  was  assured  how  tedious  and  tasteless 
were  the  hours.  Her  attention  was  directed  alternately  to  Greenland's 
icy  mountains  and  India's  coral  strand.  She  was  informed  that  here  he 
was  raising  his  Ebenezer,  having  hitherto  thus  safely  come.  But  imme- 
diately afterwards  his  mind  seemed  to  have  changed,  and  he  remarked 
that  his  home  was  over  Jordan,  and  suggested  that  if  she  should  get  there 
before  he  did,  she  might  tell  them  he  was  a-coming.  Then  he  urged 
Miss  Wilkins  to  turn,  sinner,  turn,  and  with  great  anxiety  inquired  why 
would  she  die  ?  These  might  have  passed  for  evidences  of  a  religious 
state  of  mind,  but  that  they  were  all  signed  by  Miss  Wilkins'  loving 
admirer,  Thomas  Watts.  Indeed,  in  the  blindness  of  his  temerity  he 
had  actually  written  out  his  formal  proposition  to  Miss  Wilkins,  which 
he  had  intended  to  deliver  to  her  on  the  very  next  clay.  This  had 
been  delayed  only  because  he  was  not  quite  satisfied  either  with  the 
phraseology  or  the  handwriting.  As  to  the  way  in  which  it  would  be 
received,  his  ardent  soul  had  never  entertained  a  doubt. 

"  Well,  well !  "  exclaimed  his  mother,  after  getting  through  with  all 
this  irrefragable  evidence.  "Well,  well.  I  never  should  a-blieved  it. 
But  I  suppose  we  live  and  larn.  Stealing  out  of  my  hime-book  too. 
It's  enough  to  make  anybody  sick  at  the  stomach.  I  know'd  the  child 
didn't  have  much  sense ;  but  I  didn't  know  he  was  a  clean-gone  fool. 


THE  EARLY  MAJORITY  OF  MR.  THOMAS  WATTS.   143 

Yes,  we  lives  and  larns.  But  bless  me,  it  won't  do  to  tarry  here. 
Susan,  have  that  frock  ironed  all  right,  stiff  and  starch,  by  the  time  I 
git  back.     I  shan't  be  gone  long." 

The  lady  arose,  and  without  putting  on  her  bonnet,  walked  rapidly 
down  the  street. 

"  What  are  you  lookin  for,  Mrs.  Watts  ? "  inquired  an  acquaintance 
whom  she  met  on  her  way. 

"  I'm  a-looking  for  a  person  of  the  name  of  Mr.  Watts,"  she  an- 
swered, and  rushed  madly  on.  The  acquaintance  hurried  home,  but 
told  other  acquaintances  on  the  way  that  the  Widow  Watts  have  lost 
her  mind  and  gone  ravin  distracted.  Soon  afterwards,  as  Mr.  Watts 
was  slowly  returning,  his  mind  full  of  great  thoughts  and  his  head 
somewhat  bowed,  he  suddenly  became  conscious  that  his  hat  was 
removed  and  his  roach  rudely  seized.  Immediately  afterwards  he 
found  himself  carried  along  the  street,  his  head  foremost  and  his  legs 
and  feet  performing  the  smallest  possible  part  in  the  act  of  locomotion. 
The  villagers  looked  on  with  wonder.  The  conclusion  was  universal. 
Yes,  the  Widow  Watts  have  lost  her  mind. 

When  she  had  reached  her  cabin  with  her  charge,  a  space  was 
cleared  in  the  middle  by  removing  the  stools  and  the  children.  Then 
Mr.  Watts  was  ordered  to  remove  such  portions  of  his  attire  as  might 
oppose  any  hindrance  whatever  to  the  application  of  a  leather  strap  to 
those  parts  of  his  person  which  his  mother  might  select. 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother  !  "  began  Mr.  Watts. 

"  No  motherin  o'  me,  Sir.  Down  with  'em,"  and  down  they  came, 
and  down  came  the  strap  rapidly,  violently. 

"  Oh,  Mammy,  Mammy  !  " 

"  Ah,  now !  that  sounds  a  little  like  old  times  ;  when  you  used  to  be 
a  boy,"  she  exclaimed  in  glee  as  the  sounds  were  repeated  amid  the 
unslackened  descent  of  the  strap.  Mrs.  Watts  seemed  disposed  to 
carry  on  a  lively  conversation  during  this  flagellation.  She  joked  her 
son  pleasantly  about  Miss  Wilkins,  inquired  when  it  was  to  be  and 
who  was  to  be  invited  ?  Oh,  no  !  she  forgot ;  it  was  not  to  be  a  big 
wedding,  but  a  private  one.  But  how  long  were  they  going  to  be  gone 
before  they  would  make  a  visit  ?  But  Mr.  Watts  not  only  could  not 
see  the  joke,  but  was  not  able  to  join  in  the  conversation  at  all,  except 
to  continue  to  scream  louder  and  louder,  "Oh,  Mammy,  Mammy!" 
Mrs.  Watts,  finding  him  not  disposed  to  be  talkative,  except  in  mere 
ejaculatory  remarks,  appealed  to  little  Jack,  and  Mary  Jane,  and  Polly 


144  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

Ann,  and  to  all,  down  even  to  the  baby.  She  asked  them.  Did  they 
know  that  Buddy  Tommy  were  a  man  grown,  and  were  going  to  git 
married  and  have  a  wife,  and  then  go  away  off  yonder  to  the  Ver- 
montes  ?  Little  Jack,  and  Polly  Ann,  and  baby,  and  all,  evidently  did 
not  precisely  understand  ;  for  they  all  cried  and  laughed  tumultuously. 

How  long  this  exercise,  varied  as  it  was  by  most  animated  conversa- 
tion, might  have  continued  if  the  mother  had  not  become  exhausted, 
there  is  no  calculating.  Things  were  fast  approaching  that  condition 
when  the  son  declared  that  his  mother  would  kill  him  if  she  didn't 
stop. 

"  That,"  she  answered  between  breaths,  "  is  —  what  —  I  —  aims  — 
to  do  —  if — I  can't  git  it  —  all  —  all  —  every — spang  —  passel  —  outen 
you." 

Tom  declared  that  it  was  all  gone. 

"  Is  you  —  a  man  —  or  —  is  you  —  a  boy  ? " 

"  Boy !  boy  1  Mammy,"  criecl  Tom.  "  Let  me  up,  Mammy  —  and  — 
I'll  be  a  boy  —  as  long  —  as  I  live." 

She  let  him  up. 

"  Susan,  whar's  that  frock  ?  Ah,  there  it  is.  Lookee  here.  Here's 
your  clo'es,  my  man.     Mary  Jane,  put  away  them  pantaloonses." 

Tom  was  making  ready  to  resume  the  frock.  But  Susan  remon- 
strated. It  wouldn't  look  right  now,  and  she  would  go  Tom's  security 
that  he  wouldn't  be  a  man  any  more. 

He  was  cured.  From  being  an  ardent  lover,  he  grew  to  become  a 
hearty  hater  of  the  principal  of  the  Dukesborough  Female  Institution,  the 
more  implacable  upon  his  hearing  that  she  had  laughed  immoderately 
at  his  whipping.  Before  many  months  she  removed  from  the  village, 
and  when  two  years  afterwards  a  rumor  (whether  true  or  not  we  never 
knew)  came  that  she  was  dead,  Tom  was  accused  of  being  gratified  by 
the  news.     Nor  did  he  deny  it. 

"Well,  fellers,"  said  he,  "I  know  it  weren't  right;  but  I  couldn't 
keep  from  being  glad  ef  it  had  a-kilt  me." 


THE  ORGAN-GRINDER. 


•  ."The  poor  man's  dearest  friend, 

The  kindest  and  the  best." 

WHEN  I  am  thinking  of  those  old  times  at  Dukesborough, 
my  mind  often  recurs  to  a  person  whom,  although  not  a 
resident  of  that  neighborhood,  yet,  as  I  never  saw  him  elsewhere,  I 
have  always  associated  with  it.  He  made  a  very  deep  impression  upon 
me :  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  I  have  had,  ever  since  I  knew  him,  some- 
thing like  a  fondness  for  his  class.  I  am  not  likely,  and  I  am  sure 
that  I  have  no  desire  to  lose  the  old  feeling  that  this  one  led  me  to 
feel.  The  music  sounded  so  strange  and  mournful  the  first  time  I 
heard  it  in  the  grove  at  our  gate,  and  the  man  was  so  strange  looking, 
so  pale  and  wan,  that  even  now,  in  my  old  age,  whenever  I  hear  one 
of  his  class,  especially  if  he  be  a  foreigner,  I  feel  much  of  the  impres- 
sions of  the  old  days.  Many  pence  have  I  given  to  organ-grinders  in 
my  time,  and  I  expect  to  give  more  as  long  as  I  continue  to  live. 

They  are  so  poor  and  so  taciturn,  and  seem  so  harmless.  Since  I 
have  read  in  the  books  and  found  to  be  true  what  my  poor  friend  used 
to  tell  me  about  the  great  old  bards,  and  after  them  the  minstrels,  my 
mind  became  fond  of  connecting  these  poor  wandering  musicians  with 
those  famous  characters  of  bygone  ages,  and  thus  I  learned  to  pity 
and  to  respect  them  as  the  last  representatives  of  a  class  some  of 
whom  were  illustrious  and  all  of  whom  were  beloved. 

There  seems  to  me  ever  an  unchanging  sadness,  not  only  in  their 

appearance  and  deportment,  but  in  all  their  music.     The  plaintive 

airs  they  bring  from  their  homes  across  the  sea,  are  not  less  sad  than 

those,  whether  they  be  meant  to  be  lively  or  plaintive,  which  they  find 

19 


146  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

among  us.  Indeed,  the  very  saddest  of  all  to  my  ears  are  those  which 
strive  to  be  gay.  Upon  their  poor  instruments  and  with  their  poor 
renderings,  not  only  do  the  latter  lose  their  native  gaiety,  but  the  effort 
to  preserve  it  imparts  a  sadness  which  is  sometimes  piteous.  When 
a  man  has  to  make  merry  in  order  to  get  bread  to  eat,  and  when  the 
bread  comes  slowly  and  in  insufficient  quantities  even  after  the  merry- 
making, the  latter  must  lose  most  of  its  power  to  make  us  laugh.  So 
I  seldom  can  pass  one  of  these  persons  without  dropping  into  his  till 
the  mite  which  I  cannot  easily  keep  when  I  consider  how  mufch  more 
the  gain  will  be  to  him  than  the  loss  will  be  to  me.  Then  I  have 
found  that  such  trifling  losses  in  due  time  bring  me  gains  in  many 
ways.  And  then  again,  these  little  contributions,  perhaps,  I  make  as 
often  as  otherwise  out  of  regard  for  the -memory  of-  an  old  friend. 

The  individual  of  whom  I  am  speaking  had  an  air  and  a  gait 
superior  to  most  of  those  of  his  class  whom  I  have  seen  since.  His 
features  were  well  formed  and  handsome,  and  his  eyes  were  of  extra- 
ordinary brightness.  His  clothes,  though  very  thin  and  worn,  were 
well  fitting  and  had  once  been  fine.  It  was  on  a  day  late  in  October 
that  I  first  saw  him.  We  resided  about  four  miles  from  Dukesborough, 
near  the  public  road ;  our  house  surrounded  by  a  grove  of  oak  and 
chestnut  trees.  We  were  at  dinner  when  for  the  first  time  I  heard  that 
strange  music.  I  was  startled  by  what  seemed  to  be  no  earthly 
sounds,  and  with  an  exclamation,  looked  at  my  father.  My  mother, 
too,  was  surprised ;  for  though  she  had  heard  such  before,  it  had  been 
seldom,  and  never  at  any  place  nearer  than  Augusta. 

"  Oh,"  said  my  father,  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  saw  an  organ- 
grinder  in  Dukesborough  yesterday,  and  that  I  supposed  he  would  be 
along  here  to-day.  Indeed,  I  asked  him  to  stop  as  he  should  pass  up 
the  road." 

We  went  out,  and  there  he  stood.  He  made  a  respectful  salutation 
to  us,  and  continued  turning  his  instrument.  I  looked  and  listened 
with  an  interest  I  never  had  felt  before.  Young  as  I  was,  I  could  see 
in  his  pale  face  the  signs  of  deep  suffering.  By  his  side  was  a  sweet- 
looking  little  girl  six  or  seven  j^ears  old,  who  sang  two  or  three  little 
songs  in  her  native  tongue.  She,  too,  was  pale  and  thin.  Poverty 
and  wandering  and  suffering  iif  many  ways  had  imparted  a  serious 
and  oldish  expression,  which,  however,  was  not  inconsistent  with  un- 
common beauty.  Her  sadness  was  most  tender,  and  contrasted  much 
with  her  father's  sternness,  which  sometimes  even  appeared  almost 


THE  ORGAN-GRINDER.  147 

ferocious.  I  say  sometimes ;  this  was  not  always.  While  he  turned 
his  organ  his  teeth  occasionally  would  become  set,  and  his  eyes 
wandered  up  and  down  the  road.  I  noticed  that  he  frequently  lifted 
and  gazed  with  painful  interest  at  his  left  hand,  which  had  lost  its  last 
two  fingers  ;  and  then  I  noticed  that  when  the  child,  whose  eyes  at 
such  times  were  fully  turned  upon  him  with  tender  anxiety,  would 
address  him,  his  features  would  at  once  relax  their  rigidity,  and  he 
would  answer  her  cheerfully  and  even  gaily. 

We  gave  them  their  dinner.  Immediately  afterwards  the  man  rose 
to  depart ;  but  my  father,  noticing  how  much  they  needed  rest,  invited 
them  to  remain  for  the  afternoon  and  night.  The  man  seemed  sur- 
prised and  touched  by  the  invitation.  He  looked  concernedly  at  the 
child,  and  they  spoke  a  few  words  together  in  Italian.  How  sweetly 
to  my  ears  sounded  those  first  words  I  had  ever  heard  of  this  language ! 
At  first  the  invitation  was  declined,  but  upon  my  father's  pressing  it 
upon  them,  and  especially  upon  his  urging  that  the  child  needed  rest, 
her  father  concluded  to  remain. 

There  was  in  the  corner  of  the  grounds  a  double  frame-house,  in 
one  room  of  which  the  overseer  slept.  In  the  other,  besides  a  box  of 
tools  which  were  kept  for  plantation  uses,  was  a  bed,  which  stood  there 
for  the  service  of  poor  travellers  who  might  happen  to  be  overtaken  by 
night  before  they  could  reach  the  village.  In  this  the  two  were 
lodged.  As  long  as  it  could  be  done  without  too  great  embarrass- 
ment, my  father  kept  them  in  our  sitting-room.  Finding  that  the 
Italian  spoke  English  very  well,  and  suspecting  that  he  had  been  a 
great  sufferer,  he  tried  to  obtain  some  knowledge  of  his  history ;  but 
the  man  seemed  so  averse  to  allusions  to  himself  that  nothing  could  be 
elicited  from  him.  But  I  well  remember  how  charmed  I  was  in  listening 
as  he  spoke  of  Italy,  its  skies  and  vineyards,  and  then  of  the  deep  sea 
over  which  he  had  crossed,  and  the  large  cities  he  had  visited  here. 
On  the  next  morning,  when  he  was  ready  to  depart,  my  father  took  his 
hand  with  cordiality  and  'thus  spoke : 

"You  have  not  always  been  what  you  are.  You  have  had  great 
sufferings  of  some  sort.  I  hoped  last  night  you  would  tell  me 
something  about  them,  supposing  it  possible  that  I  might  relieve  you 
in  some  small  degree.  I  will  help  you  if  I  can  at  any  time.  What- 
ever you  may  need,  come  to  me  for  it  hereafter." 

The  poor  man  looked  into  my  father's  face,  and  then  he  began  to 
weep.     In  a  moment  more  he  brushed  his  eyes,  and  hastily  lifting  his 


148  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

organ,  without  a  word  of  thanks  or  farewell  he  led  his  child  away. 
My  father  looked  long  and  compassionately  towards  him. 

"  He  has  indeed  suffered  much.  So  has  the  child.  Neither  of  them 
can  bear  such  a  life  long.  He  is  evidently  a  man  of  education,  and 
has  seen  better  times.  I  wish  he  had  stayed.  But  I  suppose  we  must 
all  pursue  our  destiny." 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  January  following  that  my  father  and  I 
were  returning  late  in  the  afternoon  from  a  walk  in  one  of  the  fields 
where  the  hands  were  at  work.  We  were  crossing  the  public  road, 
near  which  several  wagons  laden  with  cotton  were  encamped  for  the 
night.  The  day  was  very,  very  cold.  Just  as  we  were  passing  we 
heard  the  sounds  of  an  organ,  and  looking  to  the  camp,  which  was  in 
the  corner  of  a  grove  opposite  our  dwelling,  we  observed  the  Italian. 
The  child  was  not  with  him.  A  very  marked  change  had  occurred  in 
both  his  manner  and  appearance.  His  health  had  evidently  much  de- 
clined, but  his  restlessness  and  sternness  were  gone,  and  his  counte- 
nance wore  an  expression  of  contentment  and  even  of  happiness. 
When  he  saw  my  father  he  suddenly  stopped,  placed  his  wounded 
hand  upon  his  closed  eyes  for  a  moment,  then  removed  it  and  looked 
dreamily  at  us.     The  next  moment  his  face  put  on  a  sad  smile. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "  it  is  the  good  Signor.  I  hope  it  has  been  well 
with  him." 

He  then  came  up  to  me.  took  my  hand,  and  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
call  up  something  of  which  I  reminded  him.  Then  he  let  me  go,  and 
a  shiver  passed  throughout  his  frame.  I  attributed  this  to  the  extreme 
cold,  and  started  to  ask  him  about  the  child  ;  but  my  father  looked  at 
me  to  be  silent,  and  then  in  a  tone  which  had  almost  as  much  of  com- 
mand as  of  invitation  proposed  to  go  to  the  house.  The  Italian,  with- 
out hesitation,  lifted  his  organ  upon  his  back.  He  did  this  with  much 
difficulty,  for  he  was  very  weak  and  cold,  and  my  father  assisted  him. 
Little  was  said  as  we  approached  the  house.  •  My  father,  suspecting 
what  were  his  thoughts,  made  only  such  general  remarks  as  required 
little  or  no  participation  on  his  part.  When  we  entered  our  sitting- 
room,  I  observed  that  he  was  more  careful  in  the  disposal  of  his  organ 
than  he  was  before.  He  placed  it  as  gently  as  he  could  in  a  corner  of 
the  room,  carefully  covered  it  with  a  coarse  green  cloth,  and  then  sat 
where  he  could  see  it  all  the  while.  He  frequently  looked  at  it,  and 
with  evident  tenderness.  When  he  took  his  seat  by  the  fire  he  shivered 
most  ^•iolently,  as  one  usually  does  when  coming  out  of  extreme  cold. 


THE  ORGAN-GRINDER.  1 49 

Orders  were  given  for  supper  to  be  hurried.  When  it  was  ready  we 
ate  it  J  and  my  heart  has  been  seldom  so  touched  as  by  the  sight  of 
the  struggle  which  he  made  between  the  anxiety  to  gratify  a  hunger 
that  was  excessive  and  the  fear  of  being  thought  ignorant  of  good 
manners.  After  supper  he  seemed  to  need  rest  so  sorely  that  we  sent 
him  to  his  old  room,  after  first  having  it  well  warmed.  When  he 
entered  this  room  he  looked  abstractedly  around  him  for  a  moment, 
and  seemed  to  be  considering  where  he  should  place  his  organ,  which  he 
had  taken  with  him  from  the  mansion.  At  last  he  seemed  to  be  satis- 
fied with  a  position  which  could  be  seen  as  well  from  the  place  where 
he  was  to  sit  and  from  the  bed  when  he  should  be  resting  upon  it. 

The  next  morning  the  cold  had  increased.  The  sleet  had  fallen 
during  the  night,  and  the  trees  and  the  earth  were  covered  with  ice. 
The  Italian  rose  betimes ;  and  we  were  awakened  by  the  sound  of  his 
organ,  which  he  was  turning  as  he  sat  in  the  door  of  his  chamber. 

"  I  thought  I  should  give  you  a  matin-song  the  morning  before  I 
should  leave,  in  return  for  food  and  rest,"  he  said  cheerfully  to  my 
father  as  he  went  to  summon  him  to  breakfast. 

"Thank  you:  it  was  very  sweet.  But  we  cannot  let  you  go  this 
morning." 

The  man  looked  a  little  alarmed. 

"  Oh,  no,"  continued  my  father,  "  not  yet.  After  a  while  you  can 
go.     But  now  you  need  more  rest,  and  it  is  cold." 

He  said  nothing,  but  after  breakfast  he  rose  again  and  was  making 
ready  to  start.  My  father  laid  his  hand  gently  upon  his  organ  as  he 
essayed  to  raise  it,  and  then  said  : 

"  Listen  to  me,  my  friend.  I  am  neither  a  proud  man  nor  a  very 
rich  one.  I  have  been  poor,  too  ;  and  now  that  I  am  so  no  longer,  I  like 
to  assist  when  I  can  those  who  need  some  things  which  they  have  not. 
Where  are  you  going  ?     Are  you  going  home  1 " 

He  looked  at  my  father  and  answered  with  what  would  have  been  a 
sarcasm  if  it  had  not  been  so  sad : 

"  Men  like  you  must  know  that  men  like  me  have  no  homes." 

"  But  you  have  had  a  home,  and  you  are  not  one  to  endure  what 
you  are  suffering  now.  You  are  sick ;  indeed  you  are  ill.  You  do 
not  need  much,  and  it  will  not  cost  me  much  to  bestow  what  you  do 
need.  You  do  not,  I  repeat,  need  much  ;  but  you  need  it  sorely,  and 
you  need  it  now:  I  do  with  you  as  I  would  have  you  do  with  me  if  I 
were  sick  and  in  need,  and  you  had  a  shelter  to  offer  me  from  this 


150  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

cold.  In  the  name  of  Heaven  I  beg  you  not  to  hinder  me  in  a  pur- 
pose which  I  owe  even  more  to  Heaven  than  to  you." 

Noticing  that  he  wavered,  my  father  continued  his  urging,  and  said 
that  besides  he  would  like  for  me  to  hear  him  speak  more  about  his 
native  country  and  of  the  Italian  music  and  poetry ;  that  if  he  would 
stay  for  a  few  days  only,  besides  getting  the  rest  that  he  so  much 
needed,  he  could  benefit  me  to  such  a  degree  that  the  obligation,  if 
any,  would  really  be  on  our  part.  He  looked  fondly  upon  me,  and  I 
asked  him  to  stay.     Several  times  I  asked  him. 

"  And  thou  ?     Dost  thou  so  desire  indeed  t  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"Then  I  remain  —  but  for  a  little  while  —  a  few  days." 

Although  he  had  consented  to  remain,  yet  for  a  day  or  t\vo  he 
seemed  restless  and  abstracted,  with  only  a  few  intervals  of  serenity. 
During  this  time  he  preserved  much  of  the  constraint  and  reticence 
which  he  had  heretofore  practised.  My  father  was  very  delicate  in  his 
conversation  and  deportment,  and  after  a  day  or  two  more  our  guest 
began  to  seem  as  if  he  was  among  those  who  really  felt  a  kindly  inter- 
est for  him.  He  became  especially  fond  of  me.  At  all  hours,  when 
about  the  house,  except  at  meals,  he  sat  in  his  own  room.  I  spent 
much  of  the  time  with  him  there,  and  he  would  play  for  me,  and  talk 
with  me  with  increased  freedom.  Although  he  was  more  and  more 
cheerful,  yet  his  physical  condition  did  not  improve.  He  ate  little,  and 
we  began  to  notice  that  as  night  came  it  brought  with  it  a  fever.  It  would 
pass  away  by  the  morning,  and  his  cheeks  grew  more  and  more  sunken. 
By  degrees  he  became  more  communicative,  and  at  last  my  father  suc- 
ceeded in  leading  him  to  speak  of  himself 

It  was  on  the  night  of  the  fifth  day  of  his  sojourn.  At  supper  he 
seemed  less  disposed  to  be  silent  than  ever  before,  and  even  showed 
a  desire  to  be  chatty.  One  or  two  playful  remarks  he  made  to  my 
mother,  of  whom  hitherto  he  had  been  shy.  He  readily  accepted  her 
invitation  to  linger  in  our  company,  and  after  we  had  been  sitting 
together  for  some  time  around  the  bright  log-fire,  and  had  talked  of 
general  matters,  in  answer  to  the  desire  delicately  expressed  by  my 
father  he  began  to  speak  without  reserve. 

His  name  was  Antonio.  He  had  been  an  advocate  of  Brindisi,  his 
native  place,  enjoyed  a  reasonable  success,  and  married  a  young  lady 
of  good  family  who  had  lost  their  fortune.  They  were  both  much 
devoted  to  music,  she  to  the  piano  and  he  to  the  violin  and  violoncello. 


THE   ORGAN-GRINDER.  151 

This  devotion  had  been  too  much  for  their  income,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  the  means  which  he  had  accumulated  before  marriage  were 
nearly  exhausted.  After  seven  years  the  lady  died,  leaving  a  young 
daughter  six  years  old.  Grief  for  her  death,  and  the  small  hope  of 
being  then  able  to  return  in  that  place  to  the  old  habits  of  business, 
determined  him  to  remove  to  America  with  his  child,  and  pursue  the 
profession  of  a  musician.  Of  his  success  in  this  scheme  he  had  not 
entertained  a  doubt,  because,  as  he  modestly  assured  us,  he  was 
considered,  especially  as  a  violinist,  inferior  only  to  the  most  distin- 
guished performers  of  his  native  country. 

In  pursuance  of  this  purpose  he  had  arrived  in  New  York  the  last 
winter.  But  for  the  humane  intentions  with  which  my  father  had  led 
him  to  speak  of  himself,  he  would  have  repented  when  he  noticed  the 
pain  and  even  the  anguish  with  which  for  a  while  he  spoke  of  his 
subsequent  adventures.  He  had  stopped,  on  account  of  his  slender 
means,  at  an  obscure  tavern  in  the  lower  portion  of  the  city.  On  the 
first  night  after  his  arrival  an  adjoining  house  caught  fire  while  its 
occupants  were  asleep.  He  was  aroused  by  the  screams  of  his  hostess, 
who  had  been  the  first  to  discover  it,  and  had  called  to  him  for  assist- 
ance in  rescuing  the  family  who  were  domiciled  in  the  burning  building. 
The  flames  raged  with  such  rapidity  that  the  rescue  depended  solely 
upon  himself.  He  succeeded  in  saving  them  (a  widow  and  three 
young  children),  but  at  the  imminent  risk  of  his  own  life.  The  poor 
woman,  after  emerging  with  her  children,  so  bemoaned  the  loss  of  her 
household  goods,  and  especially  of  a  small  bag  of  silver,  that  he 
re-entered  in  order  to  recover  it.  He  reached  with  difficulty  the 
chamber  in  which  it  was  kept,  seized  it,  opened  the  window,  threw  it 
down,  and  other  means  of  escape  being  now  cut  off,  he  essayed  to  let 
himself  down  from  the  same  window.  While  hanging  upon  the  sill, 
and  as  he  was  waiting  for  the  women  to  place  underneath  some  bedding 
upon  which  he  could  alight,  the  sash  suddenly  dropped  upon  his  left 
hand,  and  before  he  could  be  released  its  two  lower  fingers  had  been 
lost. 

I  can  never  forget  his  looks  or  his  words  while  he  spoke  of  his 
feelings  upon  that  night. 

"  The  loss  of  those  fingers,"  he  said,  as  he  lifted  his  disabled  hand, 
"was  the  loss  of  the  only  thing  in  this  world  belonging  to  me  that  was 
of  value  to  me  or  to  any  other  person.  I  knew  that,  and  felt  it  all  as 
I  was  hanging  to  the  window.     I  do  not  —  will  the  Signor  —  and  the 


152 


DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 


Signora  pardon  me? — sometimes  I  forget  all  this  —  I  tried  to  forget 
it  —  and  —  yes,  I  think  I  shall  forget  it  soon." 

He  rose  abruptly  and  walked  several  times  across  the  room.  My 
father  begged  him  to  be  seated,  and  let  us  speak  of  something  else. 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  he  resumed,  becoming  calmed,  and  retaking  his 
seat.  "  No  ;  the  Signor  has  been  kind  —  oh  so  kind  !  —  and  he  must 
hear.  As  I  was  hanging  by  those  fingers,  and  tried  in  vain  to  release 
them  with  my  right  hand,  I  remember  how  I  calculated  how  much 
they  were  to  me,  and  what  ruin  their  loss  would  bring  upon  me, 
and—" 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  in  the  lowest  and  most  solemn  tone 
asked : 

"  I  had  a  little  child  with  me  here  ?  Yes,  yes,  she  was  with  me 
here.     Does  the  Signora  remember  the  child  ? " 

My  mother  bowed  her  head. 

"  Yes.  Teresa.  Her  name  was  Teresa.  A  pretty  child  she  was  : 
but  we  will  not  speak  of  that  now.  I  believe  I  was  saying  that  I 
calculated  as  I  was  hanging  at  the  window  what  the  loss  of  those 
fingers  would  bring.  I  did  not  feel  any  other  pain.  There  was  no 
pain  except  in  my  heart.  I  remember  thinking  while  I  was  hanging 
there  how  much  I  would  give  if  that  were  my  right  hand  instead  of  my 
left ;  and  I  remember  that  I  thought,  although  I  knew  that  I  was  even 
in  much  danger  of  losing  my  life,  yet  if  I  could  make  my  two  hands 
exchange  places,  I  would  be  happier,  up  there  hanging  by  the  window, 
than  any  other  man  ever  had  been  or  ever  could  be.  Oh  !  I  felt  that  I 
could  better  afford  to  lose  both  my  eyes  and  both  my  feet  than  those 
two  little  fingers.  My  agony  when  I  felt  them  giving  way  was  greater 
than  it  had  been  when  I  saw  my  wife  breathing  her  last.  I  remember 
that  I  then  compared  this  feeling  with  that,  and  how  strange  it  all  was. 
At  last  my  own  weight  and  the  struggles  I  made  tore  me  from  them, 
and  I  fell  into  the  arms  of  those  who  had  arrived  in  time  to  assist  in 
breaking  my  fall.  I  rose  immediately,  and  attempted  to  climb  the 
wall  in  order  to  recover  what  I  had  lost.  But  I  could  not,  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  flames  had  enveloped  all.  While  I  was  hanging 
there  I  heard  Teresa's  screams,  and  I  wondered  if  she  were  thinking 
that  the  only  thing  belonging  to  her  father  that  was  of  value  to  her 
was  about  to  be  lost.  When  I  had  thus  descended,  the  child  then 
screamed  with  delight,  and  I  pitied  her  out  of  the  depths  of  my  soul." 

After  an  interval  of  several  moments,  in  which  he  labored  with  his 


THEmpRGAN-GRINDER.  153 

memories,  he  resumed  his  narrative.  There  was  much  of  detail  which 
I  omit.  When  the  poor  man  had  gotten  tlius  far,  he  seemed  to  be 
fond  of  dwelling  upon  the  incidents  of  his  history.  After  trying  in 
vain  to  find  employment  in  New  York,  he  removed  to  Philadelphia, 
and  thence  to  Baltimore.  The  most  of  his  countrymen,  though  dis- 
posed to  assist,  had  other  claims  upon  their  charity,  and  besides  were 
of  small  means.  He  was  forced  to  sell  his  musical  instruments  in 
order  to  pay  his  board-bills,  and  then  as  a  last  resort  he  purchased  the 
hand-organ  which  he  then  carried.  Laboring  under  the  sense  of 
degradation  in  being  reduced  to  the  poor  place  of  an  organ-grinder, 
he  was  without  the  art  even  to  make  that  available  except  for  the 
procurement  of  the  barest  necessaries.  His  greatest  anxieties  were  of 
course  for  his  child. 

"  I  had  hoped,"  he  said,  "  to  bring  her  up  to  be  a  distinguished 
singer ;  and  she  would  have  been,  had  means  been  afforded  for  her 
education.  When  I  found  that  the  dear  child,  instead  of  this,  must 
labor  with  me  at  what  I  then  thought  was  so  poor  an  occupation,  and 
labor  for  subsistence  not  only  for  herself  but  for  me,  my  heart  was 
crushed.  To  think  that  she  must  wander  up  and  down  with  me,  and 
sing  for  bread  to  listless  and  often  to  vulgar  ears  the  little  songs  that 
her  mother  had  taught  her  !  —  How  variously  and  capriciously  the  rich 
conduct  themselves  to  the  poor  such  as  me  !  Sometimes  my  heart  has 
been  filled  to  overflowing  with  gratitude  by  the  reception  of  kindness 
which  seemed  almost  like  the  Mother  of  Christ.  At  other  times  I 
have  gone  mad  ;  yes,  entirely  mad  —  no,  not  quite,  but  almost  mad  — 
from  the  insults  which  our  poverty  has  received.  I  have  seen  two 
ladies,  both  of  whom  were  beautiful,  and  when  Teresa  looked  to  them 
for  compensation  for  her  little  song,  and  the  one  began  to  open  her 
purse,  the  other  laughed  at  her  for  her  weakness,  and  with  insulting 
w^ords  to  us,  dragged  her  companion  away  ;  and  then  my  little  one 
would  look  into  my  eyes,  and  I  would  look  into  hers,  and  I  would  see 
that  she  was  fast  growing  as  old  as  her  father  in  the  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  in  misery.  Oh  !  the  thoughts  that  used  to  pass  through  my 
mind  as  I  have  been  standing  out  in  the  cold :  and  how  cold,  cold  my 
darling  used  to  be  !  She  would  never  tremble,  or  she  would  strive  not 
to  tremble  ;  but  she  was  so  cold  !  At  first  I  was  near  going  mad. 
But  for  her  sake,  I  think  I  should  have  gone  mad.  To  think,  only  to 
think,  if  I  had  gone  mad  !  Would  that  not  have  been  piteous.''  —  Will 
the  good  Signer  and  the  Signora  listen  while  I  tell  them  some  of  my 
20 


154  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

thoughts  in  this  first  estate,  and  before  I  could  understand  —  could 
understand  —  ?  Yes,  I  can  tell  of  those  thoughts  now  since  my  mind 
is  so  much  better.  At  first  I  came  near  going  mad.  That  would 
have  been  so  piteous  that  I  was  saved  from  it.  Praised  be  the  Holy 
Virgin,  Mother  of  God  !  " 

He  lifted  his  eyes  towards  heaven  with  an  expression  of  profound 
gratitude  and  fervent  devotion.  Then,  with  a  strange  sad  smile,  he 
continued : 

"  I  knew  nothing  of  the  hand-organ,  and  had  always  regarded  it  as 
a  very  poor  instrument  of  music.  It  was  so  poor,  and  its  tones  were 
so  different  from  what  I  had  been  accustomed  to  hear  and  to  make, 
that  I  almost  abhorred  myself  for  having  to  carry  it  within  the  sound 
of  human  ears.  But  having  lost  my  fingers,  and  with  them  the  faculty 
to  play  upon  the  violin,  I  must  carry  it.  My  own  ears  became  so 
wounded  by  its  jarring  sounds,  that  for  a  long  time  they  became  to  be 
deaf  to  all  others  excepting  the  voice  of  Teresa.  For  hours  and 
hours  in  the  cold  days  in  the  streets  of  those  Northern  cities,  I  have 
turned,  and  turned,  and  the  discordant  notes  have  grown  louder  and 
louder,  until  the  sounds  of  human  voices,  the  feet  of  horses,  the  wheels 
of  wagons,  were  drowned,  and  I  could  not  have  heard  the  roar  of  the 
cannon,  or  the  thunder,  or  the  hurricane.  And  yet  I  heard  at  such 
times,  sounds  which  other  ears  heard  not.  Mine  ears  heard  the  cries  of 
the  poor  of  all  lands,  crying  in  their  several  tongues  for  bread.  They 
have  heard  the  wailings  of  exiles,  of  the  desolate  and  bereaved  of  all 
conditions.  They  have  heard  the  screams  of  the  condemned  of  all 
prisons,  and  even  the  shrieks  of  every  sinner  in  hell ! "' 

While  he  thus  spoke,  although  his  eyes  were  lustrous  and  his  pale 
cheek  grew  red,  yet  his  voice  was  low  and  calm. 

In  the  succeeding  autumn  he  had  wandered  with  his  child  to  the 
South,  dreading  to  encounter  again  the  rigors  of  a  Northern  winter. 
As  the  alms  which  he  had  been  receiving  in  the  Southern  cities  were 
becoming  too  small  for  his  wants,  he  went  up  occasionally  into  the 
country,  and  it  was  on  one  of  these  visits  that  we  first  saw  him.  For 
some  time  after  telling  us  of  these  things,  he  remained  silent  and 
looked  constantly  and  solemnly  into  the  fire  which  was  now  subsiding. 
Afterwards,  he  suddenly  turned  his  eyes  and  said  : 

"But  have  I  told  about  the  child,  Teresa.^ — the  beloved  and  the 
beautiful  ?  No.  Then  I  must  tell  it.  Indeed,  yes,  I  was  near  going 
mad.     But  I  know  I  was  saved  from  that,  because  it  would  have  been 


THE   ORGAN-GRINDER.  155 

so  piteous.—  But  the  Signor  now  sees  me  alone.  I  have  been  alone, 
except  with  my  organ,  for  nearly  a  month.  I  had  grown  to  be  afraid 
after  the  danger  of  madness  passed,  that  I  should  die  and  leave  the 
child  alone  ;  for,  although  I  have  been  constantly  going,  yet  I  think 
I  have  been  sick  somewhat.  Yet  I  was  afraid  I  might  die.  But  that 
would  have  been  too  piteous,  and  I  did  not.  In  the  cold  days  of 
December,  when  the  snow  was  on  the  ground  and  when  the  damp  was 
on  the  straw  where  we  slept,  the  thin  clothing  of  Teresa  could  not 
resist  the  cold  by  day  and  by  night.  And  then  she  took  a  pneumonia. 
I  sat  by  her  side  for  six  days,  and  then  she  was  better.  But  one  day 
as  the  sun  was  setting,  the  child  who  had  been  gay  for  some  hours 
was  talking  to  me  of  our  home  across  the  sea,  and  then  she  said  that 
she  had  seen  in  her  sleep  her  mother,  and  that  she  was  more  beautiful 
than  before,  and  was  clothed  all  in  white,  and  a  star  was  upon  her 
forehead,  and  she  carried  a  palm  in  her  hand,  and  her  face  was 
shining,  oh  so  gladly,  so  gladly !  And  then  the  child  kept  repeating 
these  words,  '  Oh,  so  gladly,  so  gladly,'  and  her  voice  grew  lower  and 
lower  ;  and  then  she  whispered  one  time,  '  Oh,  so  gladly,  so  gladly ; ' 
and  then  she  ceased,  and  then  I  took  her  hand  and  looked  into  her 
face." 

He  lowered  his  own  voice  now,  and  I  never  saw  so  solemn  and  sad 
a  countenance  as  when  he  whispered  : 

"She  was  gone  from  me — gone  beyond  the  seas  and  beyond  the 
clouds."  He  paused  a  moment  and  looked  curiously  from  one  to 
another  of  us. 

"  I  believe  I  told  that  she  died  ?  Yes,  yes.  Poor  little  child  !  It 
had  been  so  cold.     But  I  was  so  lonely  afterwards." 

Then  his  face  became  bright  and  he  resumed. 

"  But  now,  will  the  Signor  believe  that  since  I  have  been  alone,  I 
have  learned  to  love  my  organ  1  One  must  love  something.  Now  what 
is  the  strangest  of  all  things  to  me  is  this,  that  as  soon  as  I  came  to 
love  and  appreciate  it,  it  brought  to  me  no  more  those  horrid  sounds. 
Its  tones  have  become  indescribably  sweet  to  me.  I  cannot  tell  how 
it  is  \  but  for  the  poor  airs  which  it  made  formerly,  it  has  substituted 
others,  some  old  and  some  new.  When  I  play  upon  it  now  I  hear  the 
sweet  sounds  of  my  native  country,  and  they  have  taken  a  more  perfect 
melody  than  of  old.  There  come  to  me  the  songs  of  the  reapers  on 
breezes  scented  with  the  new-mown  hay.  There  come  the  carols  of 
the  birds  from  amid  the  orange  trees:  I  hear  the  sons:  and  the  oar  of 


156  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

the  boatmen.  Then  I  hear  the  low  lullaby  with  which  the  mother  of 
Teresa  sang  her  to  sleep  upon  her  lap  when  the  evening  was  come. 
Is  not  that  strange .'  And  my  organ,  sometimes  it  becomes,  oh  so  gay, 
and  it  sings  me  songs  of  cavaliers,  and  recites  me  the  lays  of  the 
minstrels  of  olden  days.  One  afternoon  I  was  playing  in  the  street  of 
the  pretty  city  on  the  river.  I  was  standing  before  a  costly  mansion, 
and  there  came  from  my  organ  one  of  the  old  ballads  of  the  Trouveres, 
and  it  sounded  so  gaily  that  a  fair  maiden  came  to  the  window,  and 
she  listened  and  smiled  ;  and  then  she  sent  her  page  to  me,  and  I  was 
led  into  the  dining-hall,  where  the  fire  was  burning  so  bright  and 
warm.  And  then  she  gave  me  wine,  and  made  a  nosegay  of  flowers 
and  gave  them  to  me,  and  while  I  praised  poesy  she  listened,  and  was 
exceeding  beautiful. —  But  now  will  all  hearken  to  me .''  Within  these 
last  days,  this  organ,  it  has  been  giving  forth  airs  that  are  unlike  those 
I  have  heard  before.  They  are  so  solemn.  They  are  of  low  tone  ; 
so  low,  indeed,  that  one  can  scarcely  hear  them.  They  come  as 
when  standing  on  the  shore  of  the  Adriatic  I  have  heard  the  solemn 
murmurs  come  from  afar  over  the  waves.  Then,  sometimes,  I  hear 
sounds  sweeter  yet  and  more  solemn,  as  it  were  a  harp  companied  by 
soft  feminine  voices  ;  and  they  seem  to  come  from  the  air  above  me. — 
So  I  must  have  loved  my  organ.  Holy  A^irgin  !  what  must  I  have 
done  if  I  had  not  grown  to  love  something  after  Teresa  left  me." 

My  parents  seeing  that  through  grief  and  want  he  had  become 
partially  bereft  of  reason,  became  more  and  more  assiduous  and  tender 
in  their  care  of  him.  He  became  quite  reconciled  to  remain  with  us, 
and  although  he  seemed  not  to  be  conscious  of  it,  he  would  have  been 
unable  to  travel  with  his  organ.  He  grew  quite  fond  of  me,  and  told 
me  many  things  of  the  old  bards  and  heroes,  of  knights  and  ladies  of 
the  chivalrous  ages.  He  would  carry  his  organ  to  the  door  of  his 
chamber  and  play  for  a  while  in  the  early  morning,  and  again  at  the 
twilight.  After  a  few  days  the  weather  became  much  more  mild,  and 
he  and  I  would  walk  together  in  the  grove  and  up  and  down  the  road. 
He  was  so  gentle  that  I  could  lead  him  anywhere  I  chose. 

Early  one  bright  morning,  just  as  the  sun  arose,  I  was  awakened  by 
the  sound  of  his  organ.  I  arose,  dressed  myself,  and  went  out  to 
him. 

"  Good  day  !  good  day !  "  he  answered  gaily  to  my  salutation ;  "  Beauti- 
ful is  this  day !  See  the  sun  how  he  shines  !  I  awakened  early  and 
came  out  to  meet   him.     Wilt    thou  not  listen  for  one  song  of  my 


THE   ORGAN-GRINDER.  i57 

organ?     It  is  gay  in  the  jocund  morning:  in  the  evening  it  will  be 
sad." 

He  turned  the  handle,  and  was  playing  an  air  that  I  had  often  heard. 
As  he  played,  he  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"Dost  thou  not  recognise  it?  Ah,  the  boy  is  too  young  to  have 
studied  the  music  and  the  legends  of  the  brave  old  days^!  That  is  the 
great  Richard,  and  Blondel  the  minstrel.  Shall  I  repeat  the  words 
along  with  the  air?  I  do  not  sing,  thou  knowest ;  but  I  will  rehearse. 
Dost  remember  the  scene  ?  Yes,  I  have  told  it  to  thee.  It  is  before 
a  castle  of  the  Duke  of  Austria.  The  King,  upon  his  return  from 
Holy  Land,  has  been  taken  captive,  and  is  imprisoned  in  this  casde. 
Blondel  has  been  seeking  him  in  all  lands,  for  thou  knowest  that  the 
minstrels  had  access  to  all  places.  This  song  the  King  and  Blondel 
had  composed  together,  and  they  would  sing,  as  the  muses  of  old  times 
loved  most  the  song,  in  alternate  verses.  When  the  minstrel  played 
the  former  part,  then  he  heard  the  other  part  from  within  the  castle 
walls.     Now  listen  to  the  minstrel : 

'  Your  beauty,  lady  fair, 
*  None  view  without  delight ; 

But  still  so  cold  an  air 

No  passion  can  excite  : 
Yet  this  I  patient  see 
While  all  are  shunned  like  me.' 

And  now  thus  comes  the  reply : 

'  No  nymph  my  heart  can  wound, 

If  favor  she  divide. 
And  smile  on  all  around, 

Unwilling  to  decide  : 
I'd  rather  hatred  bear 
Than  love  with  others  share.' 

It  was  thus  that  Blondel  found  the  beloved  master  whom  he  had  sought 
so  long." 

Two  days  after  this,  when  I  arose  and  went  to  his  chamber,  although  he 
was  up  and  sitting  at  the  door  and  the  morning  was  even  sweeter 
than  before,  the  gaiety  which  he  usually  seemed  to  feel  at  this  hour 
was  away,  and  his  face  was  full  of  solemnit}'.  I  led  him  into  the 
grove.  We  went  slowly,  for  he  had  now  grown  very  weak.  The 
wagons  were  going  along  in  unusual  numbers  this  morning.  He 
looked  at  them  attentively,  and  as  we  neared  the  road  he  lifted  his 


158  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

cap  reverently  from  his  head,  held  it  in  his  hand,  and  turning  to  me, 
said  in  subdued  tones  : 

"  It  is  a  funeral  procession." 

"  No,"  I  answered. 

"  It  must  be  a  procession.  See  how  solemnly  they  are  marching  ! 
Lo !  there  are  two  processions  !  Yes,  yes  !  there  are  two  processions  ! 
One  is  going  up  and  one  is  going  down.  The  dead,  even  like  the 
living,  travel  in  differing  ways.  Yes,  yes !  there  are  two  ;  and  one  is 
going  up,  and  one  is  going  down." 

I  led  him  back  again,  and,  by  my  father's  directions  that  I  should 
not  leave  him,  I  stayed  with  or  near  him  throughout  the  day.  In  the 
afternoon  he  lay  upon  his  bed.  He  had  said  nothing  to  me  since  the 
morning,  but  had  lain  through  the  afternoon  looking  alternately  at  his 
organ  and  out  upon  the  sky.  My  father  frequently  passed  near  the 
door,  but  none  of  us  spoke. 

The  sun  was  setting.  Through  the  window  the  invalid  could  see  it. 
He  watched  it  until  it  was  down.     He  then  turned  to  me  and  said  : 

"  And  now  the  good  Signor  thy  father  may  come.     All  may  come." 

We  all  sat  in  the  chamber. 

"  It  is  good  that  ye  be  here.     I  had  no  music  the  morn. 

"  I  was  weak  and  awear}'. 

"  But  now  before  the  sunset  I  have  been  listening  to  my  organ.  Is 
it  not  strange  t 

"  The  music  was  low,  but  mine  ears  did  hear. 

"  Not  the  gay  sounds. 

"  But  the  tranquil. 

"  The  songs  of  the  reapers. 

"  Oh  !  I  could  scent  the  new  hay. 

"  The  carols  of  the  birds. 

"  In  the  orange  trees. 

*'  The  songs  that  come  from  the  air  above  me. 

"  The  voice  of  Teresa. 

"  And  Teresa's  mother. 

"  Along  with  heavenly  harpings." 

He  lay  awhile  silent. 

"  Wilt  thou  take  my  hand,  Signor  ? "  My  father  was  about  to  take 
his  right  hand. 

"Not  that:  the  other." 

Then  my  father  took  his  left.     He  smiled  and  said : 


THE   ORG  A  N-  GRINDER. 


159 


"  Thanks  !  thanks  and  blessings  for  all  —  and  forever. 

"  Hist ! "  said  he,  suddenly,  "  Hearest  thou  not  ?     Hearest  thou  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  my  father. 

"  And  seest  thou  ?  and  seest  thou  ?  Behold  !  they  are  at  the  door  ! 
They  have  returned  to  me." 

An  ineffable  gladness  was  upon  his  face. 

My  father  laid  his  lacerated  hand  upon  his  breast,  and  as  he  took 
the  other  to  place  by  its  side,  the  wanderer  joined  those  silent  mes- 
sengers, and  departed  to  the  abodes  beyond  the  seas  and  beyond  the 
clouds. 

We  buried  him  behind  the  garden  among  our  own  dead ;  and  my 
father,  as  long  as  he  lived,  tended  his  grave  like  the  rest. 


MR.  WILLIAMSON  SLIPPEY  AND   HIS 

SALT. 


"Sale  omnes  siiperare." 

Cicero. 

THE  Slippeys  had  never  been  any  great  things.  The  Dukes- 
borough  people  as  a  general  thing  used  to  look  down  upon 
the  Slippeys.  Somehow  all  of  them  did  poorly.  Poorly  in  their 
raising  ;  and  when  they  grew  up,  they  all,  boys  and  girls,  married 
poorly.  Anything  like  improvement  seemed  to  be  impracticable  to 
any  of  the  name.  This  was  the  way  with  the  first  set.  Old  Jimmy 
Slippey,  the  father  of  the  family,  all  of  whom  were  extremely  like 
him,  persuaded  himself  in  his  old  age  that  he  had  been  a  model  of  a 
parent ;  and  he  became  disgusted  with  his  children  for  having  fallen 
so  far  short  of  his  great  example.  Quite  late  in  life,  however,  Mrs. 
Slippey,  the  last  Mrs.  Slippey  (for  she  was  the  second  who  had  enjoyed 
the  honor  of  that  name),  who  was  much  younger  than  her  husband, 
gave  birth  unexpectedly  to  another  son.  He  was  named  Williamson. 
Even  while  yet  a  baby,  Williamson  seemed  to  give  such  uncommon 
promise  that  his  father,  although  he  said  that  he  should  never  live  to 
see  it,  used  to  foretell  that  this  son  of  his  old  age  would  make  such  a 
career  as  would  lift  up  the  Slippeys  in  good  time  out  of  their  obscurity, 
and  be  an  honor  to  his  family  when  he  himself  should  be  in  his  grave. 
Among  other  evidences  of  precocity  was  that  afforded  by  the  sur- 
prising speed  and  facility  with  which  he  cut  his  teeth.  On  one  occa- 
sion in  particular,  when  he  was  only  a  few  months  old,  while  his  father 
was  fondly  caressing  the  three  which  had  appeared  in  front,  he  slyly, 
as  it  w-ere,  sucked  his  finger  off,  and  with  another  quite  away  to  one 


MR.   WILLIAMSON  SLIPPEY  AND  HIS  SALT.         i6i 

side  bit  it  with  such  violence  that  Mr.  Slippey  cried  out  with  mingled 
pain  and  delight.  And  not  only  so,  but  as  the  latter  ever  afterwards 
declared,  he  smiled  and  even  winked  when  he  did  it.  Now,  the 
question  was  if  he  did  these  things  in  infancy  and  with  his  own  folks, 
what  would  he  do  at  manhood  and  with  the  world  at  large  ?  The  old 
gentleman  pondered  on  these  things,  and  in  the  fulness  of  assurp,nce 
he  was  often  heard  to  say  that  people  need  not  be  surprised  if  William- 
son should  some  day  become  a  public  man. 

The  fond  parent  was  right  in  saying  that  he  should  not  live  to  see 
these  things.  Indeed,  Dukesborough  itself  was  destined  to  fall  before 
the  time  of  Williamson  Slippey's  highest  greatness.  Yet  the  old 
gentleman,  even  in  dying,  adhered  to  his  hopes  and  opinions  ;  and  be- 
queathed to  his  favorite  child,  who  was  yet  in  his  shirt,  the  bulk  of  his 
estate.  This  consisted  mainly  of  a  small,  brown,  aged,  short-tailed 
pony  named  Bull. 

Interesting  as  his  boyhood  and  youth  and  young  manhood  may 
have  been,  yet  I  cannot  linger  among  them.  If  it  would  not  have 
done  to  begin  with  the  history  of  Diomede  from  the  death  of  Meleager, 
nor  with  the  Troj  an  war  from  the  double  ^^^  of  Leda  (vide  Epistola 
ad  Fisones),  neither  will  it  now  do  to  narrate  all  the  events  in  the  life 
of  Mr.  Williamson  Slippey  that  were  preliminary  to  that  high  career 
which,  at  a  later  period  and  in  an  unusually  excited  state  of  society, 
he  was  destined  at  least  for  a  short  time  to  lead.  The  facts  are, 
however,  that  he  had  had  some  few  ups  and  many  downs  in  the 
interim  between  childhood  and  the  period  which  I  propose  to  select 
for  the  purpose  of  holding  him  and  his  business  up  to  the  public 
view. 

This  was  in  the  winter  of  1863-4.  At  this  time  Mr.  Slippey  was  in 
the  city  of  Atlanta.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  were  very 
few  persons  (at  least  among  those  who  were  old  enough  and  not  too 
old  to  travel)  who  were  not  in  the  city  of  Atlanta  at  some  time  or 
other  during  the  late  war.  In  those  days,  if  you  wanted  to  see 
specially  and  soon  any  particular  person  whose  whereabouts  you  did 
not  certainly  know,  your  best  plan  was  to  go  to  Atlanta  and  walk 
about  the  railroad  depot.  If  you  did  not  see  him  at  once,  the  chances 
were  that  he  would  arrive  by  the  next  train.  We  had  never  expected, 
it  is  true,  to  see  Sherman.  And,  indeed,  many  persons  did  not  see 
him,  for  they  had  to  leave  before  he  reached  there,  and  did  not  return 
until  after  he  was  gone. 


1 62  DUKESBOROUGII   TALES. 

As  for  Mr.  Williamson  Slippey,  he  had  been  residing  there  for  five 
or  six  years  before  the  war,  and  had  kept  a  little  store,  of  which  he 
was  very  proud.  If  old  Jimmy  Slippey,  when  he  was  prophesying 
such  great  things  of  this  son,  foresaw  thus  far  into  the  future,  he  must 
have  been  right  in  feeling  that  this  last  paternity  had  already  made 
amends  for  the  disappointments  of  all  the  preceding  ones. 

In  politics,  Mr.  Slippey  had  been  an  original  secessionist.  The  fact 
was,  Yankees  were  settling  in  Atlanta  too  fast.  Then  Mr.  Slippey 
had  no  idea  that  there  would  be  any  war  ;  and  even  if  there  should  be 
one,  he  reflected  that,  according  to  the  best  of  his  recollection  (although 
he  looked  younger),  he  was  over  or  very  nearly  over  forty-five  years  of  age. 
Besides,  furthermore,  there  was  no  doubt  that  in  times  of  war  people 
came  to  town  oftener  than  in  times  of  peace,  they  bought  and  consumed 
more  merchandise,  and,  upon  the  whole,  such  times  were  better  for  the 
mercantile  business.  So  Mr.  Slippey  became  a  secessionist  out  and 
out,  saying  boldly,  often  and  often,  that  consequences  might  be  conse- 
quences. 

Although  his  business  was  avowedly  and  mainly  grocery,  yet  he 
watched  the  general  market,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping  a  few 
other  things  besides  :  a  small  lot  of  cutlery,  mostly  pocket-knives ;  a 
few  saddles  and  grindstones  ;  some  tubs  and  wagon  whips  ;  and  even 
a  trifling  supply  of  assorted  candy  and  nails.  For  having  caught  a 
customer  in  the  general  line,  Mr.  Slippey  seemed  to  feel  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  accommodate  him  in  these  special  articles  instead  of  sending 
him  all  over  town  for  them.  By  such  and  like  means  he  was  making 
a  little  more  and  more  every  year ;  and  when  the  war  broke  out,  Mr. 
Slippey  might  have  been  said  to  be  a  growing  man. 

"Williamson  Slippey  is  a  'growin'  man,  certing  shore,"  used,  in  point 
of  fact,  to  say  Elias  Humphrey,  a  small  farmer  in  the  neighborhood. 
He  had  backed  up  Mr.  Slippey  as  well  as  he  could  ever  since  he  had 
been  at  Atlanta,  and  carried  him  many  a  customer  in  a  small  way. 
Mr.  Humphrey  had  predicted  that  Mr.  Slippey  would  grow  after  a 
while,  and  sure  enough  here  he  was  growing. 

"Jest  as  I  said  he  would,"  Mr.  Humphrey  often  remarked  trium- 
phantly. 

At  a  very  early  period  in  our  late  struggle,  which  I  am  sure  every 
Southern  man  and  woman,  bo}  and  girl,  of  this  generation  is  likely  to 
remember  as  long  as  they  live,  the  attention  of  the  Southern  public 
began  to  be  directed  to  the  subject  of  salt.     And  I  must  remark  in 


MR.  WILLIAMSON  SLIPPEY  AND  HIS  SALT.         163 

passing,  that  probably  at  no  time  in  the  history  of  commerce  has  that 
one  subject  received  greater  attention  than  during  our  late  struggle. 
Old  as  I  was  at  the  time,  and  having  been  a  considerable  reader  of 
books  for  one  of  my  age,  yet  I  found  that  I  had  had  no  idea  of  how  much 
general  attention  would  or  could  be  bestowed  upon  the  single  article 
of  salt  as  was  the  case  in  our  late  struggle.  Of  course  that  is  all 
over  now.  I  know  that  very  well ;  and  it  is  not  my  intention  now  to 
bring  up  the  heart-rending  scenes  which  I  often  witnessed,  and  which 
were  caused  mainly  by  the  want  of  salt ;  and  I  will  end  what  I  had  to 
say  upon  the  general  principles  appertaining  to  that  subject,  by  expres- 
sing the  sincere  hope  that  never  again  in  what  time  is  left  for  me  to 
live,  may  I,  and  my  friends  and  neighbors  and  countrymen  of  the 
South  generally,  be  so  pinched  for  salt  for  ourselves  and  our  cattle,  our 
sheep  and  hogs,  and  even  our  goats  (what  few  we  had),  as  was  the  case 
in  our  late  unfortunate  struggle.  We  may  have  war  again.  I  am  well 
aware  of  that.  The  universal  Yankee  nation  have  grown  lately  to  be 
a  mighty  nation  for  fighting;  and  therefore  I  think  it  is  highly 
probable  that  we  shall  have  other  wars.  But  I  do  think  that  an  old 
man  like  me,  who  has  seen  more  than  one  war  (although  all  former 
ones  were  as  nothing  when  compared  with  the  last),  and  who  may  be 
said  to  be  disgusted  with  wars  in  general,  may  be  allowed,  even  in  this 
connection,  to  express  the  hope  that  if  other  wars  are  to  come,  some 
arrangements  will  somehow  be  made  by  somebody  by  which  the 
people  everywhere  can  be  supplied  with  salt  at  living  prices,  and  man 
and  beast  will  not  be  so  put  to  it  in  order  to  obtain  it  as  was  the  case 
in  our  late  unfortunate  struggle.  There  was  probably  not  a  single  old 
smoke-house  in  the  whole  Confederate  States  whose  floor  was  not  dug 
up  for  at  least  three  feet,  thereby  rendering  it  yet  more  accessible  to 
thieves  and  rats.  I  remember  well  in  the  case  of  my  own  —  however, 
I  forgot  that  I  was  to  stop.  I  will  stop,  and  merely  remark  in  conclu- 
sion that  the  disposition  to  talk  overmuch,  which  I  sometimes  suspect 
to  be  coming  upon  me,  as  I  have  often  noticed  in  men  of  my  age  and 
even  younger,  and  which  I  have  thus  far  been  careful  to  avoid  —  this 
disposition,  I  say,  I  never  feel  more  sensibly  than  when  I  am  thinking 
of  how  we  of  the  South  were  cramped  about  salt  during  the  time  of 
our  late  most  unfortunate  struggle. 

Mr.  Slippey  had  always  managed,  even  before  the  war,  to  make  a 
little  something  upon  salt.  He  had  usually  cleared  from  eighteen 
and  three-quarters  to  thirty-seven  and  a  half  cents  a  sack.     Bagging, 


l64  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Mr.  Slippey  had  grown  to  be  a  little  afraid  of.  He  had  been  "  burnt " 
once,  as  he  expressed  it,  by  bagging.  But  salt,  he  used  to  boast  that 
he  understood  through  and  through.  Now  it  so  happened  that  when 
we  were  into  the  war  for  good,  he  had  about  a  hundred  sacks  on  hand. 
Salt  went  up  with  such  rapidity  that  it  soon  reached  ten  dollars  a  sack. 
It  would  seem  that  now  was  a  good  time  for  Mr.  Slippey  to  sell  out. 
But  did  he  do  it  ?  Not  he.  Not  the  first  sack.  Instead  of  this  Mr. 
Slippey  went  about  buying  more  salt.  Indeed,  he  sold  out  everything 
he  had  but  salt.  He  seemed  determined  to  stake  everything,  even  to 
his  reputation  as  a  merchant,  upon  salt.  For  he  had  predicted  that  if 
this  war  should  continue,  salt  would  go  a  great  deal  higher  yet. 
Indeed  there  was  no  telling  where  salt  would  go.  Thus  things  went 
on  until  the  summer  of  1863,  when  Mr.  Slippey,  yet  holding  on  to  his 
stock,  prophesied  publicly  and  above  board  that  salt  would  go  up  to 
one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  True,  he  was  laughed  at,  and  by  some 
persons  abused.     But  having  said  it,  Williamson  Slippey  stuck  to  it. 

Like  all  other  prophets  (mere  uninspired  prophets,  I  mean)  he 
wished  his  predictions  verified.  When  the  summer  had  passed,  and 
while  the  fall  was  passing,  Mr.  Slippey  was  excited  to  a  degree 
probably  beyond  anything  that  had  ever  been  noticed  in  the  town  in 
similar  circumstances.  It  seemed  as  if  we  were  going  to  have  a 
late  fall.  Mr.  Slippey  had  rather  hoped  that  winter,  his  business 
season,  was  going  to  set  in  sooner  than  usual.  Instead  of  this,  he 
thought  there  had  never  been  such  a  late  fall ! 

Meanwhile,  our  public  troubles  seemed  rather  to  promise  an  early 
adjustment,  and  most  persons  were  highly  gratified  by  the  prospect. 
As  it  interfered  with  his  predictions  and  his  business,  Mr.  Slippey  was 
not.  He  was  not  the  man  to  be  willing  to  be  made  a  fool  of.  Con- 
scription had  taken  all  the  men  below  thirty-five.  Like  other  men 
over  that  age,  he  thought  that  was  a  very  fine  thing,  and  though  this 
business  might  be  carried  yet  further,  still,  according  to  the  best  of  his 
recollection  as  to  his  own  age,  it  was  not  likely  to  reach  him.  Yet  the 
fall  lingered,  and  while  it  lingered  he  came  near  selling  off  his  stock. 
But  the  idea  of  eating  his  own  words  in  that  way  was  so  revolting  to  his 
feelings,  and  he  thought  he  knew  the  universal  Yankee  nation  so  well, 
that  he  concluded  to  hold  on. 

Didn't  he  say  so  ?  A  winter  campaign  is  decided  on.  Didn't  he 
say  so  ?  The  salt-works  will  not  be  competent  to  supply  the  necessary 
demand.     Didn't  he  say  so?     The  railroads  will  not  be  able  to  afford 


MR.  WILLIAMSON  SLIPPEY  AND  HIS  SALT.         165 

transportation  for  what  the  salt-works  can  furnish.  Now,  watch  the 
figures  if  you  Uke.  Salt,  sixty  dollars  a  sack  !  Seventy  !  Eighty-five ! 
One  hundred  !  That  will  do.  Everybody  gets  hopeless,  and  nobody 
cares  a  red  where  it  goes  now.  So,  without  anybody's  remonstrance, 
it  went  on  up  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  Williamson  Slippey 
was  numbered  among  the  prophets. 

Now  Mr.  Slippey  thought  he  might  afford  to  sell.  During  the  year 
he  had  done  but  a  small  business  in  that  way,  and  that  mostly  by  way 
of  barter  for  his  family  expenses.  These  were  extremely  moderate  in 
spite  of  the  high  price  of  everything.  He  had  economised  while 
accumulating  his  stock  to  a  degree  that  showed  genius.  He  carried 
matters  to  such  extremes  that  his  wife,  who  was  by  no  means  an 
extravagant  woman,  and  some  grown-up  davighters  tried  to  hold  him 
back  by  representing  that  unless  they  could  do  so,  he  and  they  must 
all  perish  together.  These  ladies  did  not  suppose,  nor  did  the  public, 
that  he  ever  treated  himself  to  any  luxury.  They  did  not  dream  that 
every  night  of  his  life  he  was  in  the  habit  of  making,  at  his  store 
where  he  slept,  a  whiskey-stew,  and  then  drinking  it  up  alone. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  December.  A  cold  spell  had  set  in. 
Salt  was  in  high  demand.  Mr,  Slippey  had  been  selling  briskly 
for  some  days.  Late  one  afternoon,  Mr.  Elias  Humphrey,  his  old 
friend,  came  into  the  store.  Lately,  Mr.  Humphrey  had  not  been  much 
about  there.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Slippey  had  grown  so  far  above  him 
that  his  society  was  not  as  welcome  as  formerly.  Mr.  Humphrey  had 
noticed  this,  and  governed  himself  accordingly.  But  he  wanted  a  sack 
of  salt,  and,  like  the  rest  of  his  neighbors,  had  put  off  buying  until  his 
little  pen  of  hogs  was  ready  to  be  killed.  He  had  not  made  any 
cotton,  and  the  summer  drought  had  cut  short  his  crop  of  corn.  He 
had  therefore  but  little  money.  You  think  that  man  did  not  have  the 
effrontery,  trusting  to  old  friendship,  to  try  to  borrow  a  sack  from  Mr. 
Slippey  ?  He  stated  his  case.  He  spoke  with  the  earnestness  of  a 
man  who  felt  that  it  was  needed  to  ensure  success.  He  looked  around 
at  the  great  heaps  of  salt-bags  (and  he  knew  that  there  were  many 
others  in  the  cellar  or  elsewhere),  and  wound  up  with  an  effort  to 
convince  Mr.  Slippey  that  one  single  sack  would  hardly  be  missed 
from  such  a  vast  pile. 

"Jest  one  leetle  bit  of  a  sack,  Slippey." 

Mr.  Slippey  at  first  believed  that  Mr.  Humphrey  was  joking.  But 
he  looked  closely  at  him  and  saw  that  he  was  in  earnest. 


i66  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

"  Have  you  any  peach  brandy,  'Lias  ? " 

"No." 

"  But  you  know  who  has  some  ? " 

"Yes;  some  of  the  neighbors  has  some,  but  they  ask  a  mighty  big 
price  for  it." 

"What?" 

"Twelve  dollars  a  gallon." 

"  Gracious  !  that  is  high.  But  you  can  get  it  cheaper.  You  can  get 
it  for  ten." 

Mr.  Humphrey  did  not  think  he  could ;  but  supposing  he  could  ? 

"Well  then,  if  you  can,  you  can  make  thirty  dollars." 

"  How  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Humphrey  doubtingly. 

"  If  you  will  bring  me  twelve  gallons  of  good  peach  brandy  (I  want 
it  in  case  of  sickness,  yow  know)  I  will  let  you  have  a  sack  of  salt. 
That  is  thirty  dollars  less  than  the  price  of  salt  to-day,  and  the  price 
will  be  twenty  dollars  higher  next  week." 

"But  I  can't  raise  the  money.     You  won't  lend  me  a  sack  then.!"' 

Mr.  Slippey  could  not  quite  do  that.  It  would  not  —  ah  —  be 
treating  his  brother  merchants  right.  If  it  wasn't  for  treating  his 
brother  merchants  wrong,  he  would  do  it.  Positively  he  would,  but 
for  that. 

Mr.  Humphrey  looked  hard  at  his  old  friend,  and  it  was  on  his 
mind  to  say  some  bitter  things.  His  lip  trembled  in  the  effort  to 
repress  his  feelings.  But  he  did  repress  them,  and  walked  quietly 
away.  Mr.  Slippey  was  troubled  somewhat.  To  turn  off  in  that  way  a 
man  that  had  befriended  him  looked  hard.  He  watched  him  as  he 
went  in  and  came  out  of  several  stores.  Once  or  twice  he  thought  of 
calling  him  back  and  putting  a  sack  down  to  him  at  half  price.  He 
did  try  to  do  it.  But  he  could  not ;  and  when  he  found  that  he  could 
not,  he  quit  trying. 

Oh  what  a  glorious  stew  Mr.  Slippey  had  that  night !  It  was  about 
nine  o'clock  when  he  began  it.  He  was  not  in  the  habit  of  beginning 
until  about  half-past  nine ;  mostly  because  he  would  not  have  liked 
to  be  interrupted  in  a  matter  that  was  not  one  of  business,  and  in 
which  he  needed  and  desired  no  companion.  But  all  the  time  during 
the  afternoon  and  in  the  evening  he  had  been  troubled  by  thoughts  of 
Elias  Humphrey,  and  he  wanted  to  think  of  a  more  agreeable  subject. 
Salt  was  such  a  subject ;  but  somehow  Mr.  Humphrey  had  become 
mixed  up  with  that.  So  he  turned  away  from  it  and  set  his  mind  upon 
whiskey-stew. 


MR.  WILLIAMSON  SLIFPEY  AND  HIS  SALT.         167 

The  night  was  cold  and  he  had  a  splendid  fire.  Still  he  mended  it 
a  little,  and  after  carefully  closing,  as  he  believed,  the  door  of  his 
store,  he  presently  brought  out  from  a  corner  where  they  stayed,  and 
where  nobody  suspected  that  such  things  were,  a  demijohn,  a  pewter 
mug  and  spoon,  a  tea-kettle,  and  a  little  round  sugar  box.  Mr.  Slip- 
pey  had  taken  to  stew  only  since  the  war  began.  Yet  no  man  of  the 
largest  experience  knew  better  how  to  mix  things  than  he  did.  He 
took  pains,  I  tell  you.  He  stirred  and  tasted  even  the  sugar  and 
water  before  he  poured  in  the  whiskey.  P'or  he  had  ever  been  a  dear 
lover  of  sugar,  owing  partly,  as  he  used  to  confess,  to  the  fact  of  how 
little  of  that  article  he  was  accustomed  to  get  when  he  was  a  boy. 

"  Nobody,"  he  would  often  say  blandly,  after  he  had  become  great, 
"  nobody  loved  it  better  than  I  did,  and  got  it  sildomer." 

When  he  had  gotten  the  sugar  and  water  right,  then  he  poured  in 
the  whiskey.  He  stirred  and  tasted,  and  stirred  and  tasted,  until  it 
was  exactly  right.  By  the  time  it  was  finished  it  was  capital !  He 
would  stir  and  taste  even  while  it  was  simmering  over  the  coals.  Just 
at  the  instant  when  it  would  have  boiled,  he  took  it  off  the  fire.  Hot 
as  it  was  he  took  a  little  sip  immediately,  gave  a  slight  cough,  smiled, 
and  ejaculated  "  Hah  !  "  He  then  filled  the  mug,  put  it  on  the  table, 
drew  up  his  arm-chair,  and  stroking  gently  the  leg  which  was  next  the 
fire,  and  throwing  the  other  across  the  table,  he  began  to  sip  with  the 
deliberation  of  a  man  who  feels  that  he  has  something  good  which  he 
wishes  to  last  a  long  time. 

Mr.  Slippey  sipped  and  thought  how  good  it  was.  He  sipped  and 
surveyed  the  vast  piles  before  him,  as  they  lay  in  the  rear  part  of  his 
store.  He  sipped  and  wondered  why  he  had  not  taken  to  stew  before. 
He  had  once  been  a  great  temperance  man,  even  a  Knight  of  Jericho. 
Nay,  that  man  used  to  make  speeches  in  a  small  but  violent  way, 
especially  against  moderate  drinkers,  whom  he  used  to  style,  every 
single  one  of  them,  first-lieutenants  of  the  devil.  But  he  now  believed 
that  of  all  the  things  that  he  had  ever  done  this  was  the  most  foolish. 
The  fact  was,  Mr.  Slippey  had  had  no  idea  how  good  whiskey-stew  was 
until  he  had  tried  it. 

"  My  opinion  is,"  said  Mr.  Slippey  then  and  there  to  himself,  yet  in 
audible  tones,  "  my  opinion  is  that  there  ain't  nary  man,  nor  nary 
woman  in  the  world  that  wouldn't  love  a  sweetened  dram." 

Whereupon  he  took  a  whole  mouthful,  and  his  very  eyes  seemed  to 
cry  with  delight. 


i68  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES, 

Again  Mr.  Slippey  surveyed  the  heaps  of  salt,  and  by  this  time  all 
unpleasant  thoughts  of  Mr.  Humphrey  having  departed,  he  began  to 
make  all  sorts  of  inward  speculations  upon  the  salt  question  and  upon 
the  war.  For  he  had  studied  both  these  subjects  closely ;  the  former 
for  its  own  sake,  and  the  latter  for  the  sake  of  the  bearing  it  might 
have  upon  the  former.  He  had  read  everything  he  could  find  upon 
the  subject,  even  to  allusions  to  it  in  the  Bible,  and  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  salt  was  a  much  more  important  article  than  he  had 
once  supposed.  He  began  away  back  at  the  salt-mines  of  Lymington. 
Wasn't  that  a  slim  business?  And  wasn't  the  same  thing  here  a  slim 
business  ?  He  laughed  scornfully  at  the  pitiful  turn-out  the  salt  com- 
panies were  making.  Pshaw !  they  never  can  do  anything.  Fossil- 
beds  and  brine-springs  are  the  things  for  salt.  Cheshire  and  Worces- 
tershire are  the  places  for  salt.  If  you  want  salt,  go  to  Cheshire 
and  Worcestershire.  But  the  question  is,  how  will  you  get  there  t 
And  then  the  question  will  be,  how  will  you  ever  get  back  again  with 
your  salt  ?  Only  to  think  now  of  how  much  Mr.  Slippey  would  be 
worth  if  he  had  a  monopoly  of  those  fossil-beds  and  brine-springs  for 
one  year,  and  then  could  run  the  blockade !  Five  hundred  thousand 
tons  of  salt !  Not  sacks !  Tons  !  How  many  sacks  make  a  ton  .' 
What  would  it  all  amount  to  at  present  prices  ?  Why,  it  went  far  up 
into  the  billions  !  He  wouldn't  take  time  to  work  it  up  just  now  ;  but 
he  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  it  went  up  somewhere  among  the  trillions. 
Goodness  alive  !  Mr.  Slippey  could  buy  out  the  Rothschilds  and  own 
them  every  one.  Blame  them  old  Jews  !  They  shouldn't  hold  up 
their  heads  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Slippey. 

But  then  if  that  amount  of  salt  were  here,  the  price  might  fall.  No, 
upon  reflection  it  should  not.  He  would  keep  it  in  different  places 
and  make  it  look  scarce,  and  by  Gracious  !  he  wouldn't  sell  a  sack 
without  getting  his  price.  Everj^thing  and  ever}^body,  people  and 
cattle,  might  die  of  the  murrain  before  he  would  fall  in  his  price  after 
going  to  the  expense  and  risk  of  working  the  fossil-beds  and  brine- 
springs  of  Cheshire  and  Worcestershire  for  one  whole  blessed  year,  and 
then  running  the  blockade.  Mr.  Slippey  was  indignant  at  the  bare 
idea  of  lowering  the  price.  Fool  with  him  much  about  it  and  he 
would  raise  it  higher  yet ! 

But  the  Governor  might  seize  it. 

"There  now!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Slippey  aloud.  "Old  Brown  is  a 
mighty  seizer,  that's  a  fact ;  and  he  is  sot  on  gettin'  salt  wharsomever 
he  can  for  them  miserable  old  poor  people  up  in  Cherokee." 


MR.   WILLIAMSON  SLIPPEY  AND  HIS  SALT.         169 

He  took  another  sijD  and  reflected. 

Let  him  see  now.  How  would  it  do  to  take  the  Governor  into  — 
ah  —  a  sort  of  partnership?  Oh  the  mischief !  That  won't  do.  Old 
Brown  was  born  with  a  prejudice  against  merchants.  By  Gracious  !  he 
would  seize  the  salt  and  Mr.  Slippey  too,  and  lock  them  both  up  in 
the  Penitentiary. 

But  let  him  see  again.  How  would  it  do  to  put  salt  to  the  Georgia 
people  at  half  price,  and  compel  the  rest  of  the  Confederacy  to  make 
up  the  loss .'' 

But  wouldn't  the  Confederate  Government  seize  >  The  Confederate 
Government !  Thunder.!  No.  It  had  more  money  now  than  six  yoke 
of  oxen  could  pull  down  a  mountain,  and  was  still  grinding  out  more 
every  day  and  every  night.  Pshaw  !  if  he  could  keep  old  Brown  down 
he  could  manage  the  Confederate  Government  easy  enough. 

But  a  speedy  peace  would  cut  these  profits  down  1  A  speedy  peace, 
indeed  !  Mr.  Slippey  had  no  fears  on  that  subject.  He  would  take  all 
them  chances. 

Mr.  Slippey  was  a  happy  man  as  he  rubbed  his  leg  and  sipped  his 
stew.  While  going  again  over  his  calculations  as  to  the  value  of  one 
year's  product  of  the  fossil-beds  and  brine-springs,  his  mind  became 
a  little  fatigued,  and  he  thought  he  would  rest  a  moment  and  take 
another  sip.  It  was  near  the  bottom,  and  the  undissolved  sugar  had 
made  a  sort  of  mush  that  seemed  the  very  perfection  of  earthly  sweets. 
As  he  sat  there  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  resting,  and  sipping  and 
sucking,  he  was  fast  getting  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  the  happiest 
of  mankind. 

But  how  fickle  is  fortune,  especially  in  the  times  of  great  revolutions  ! 
How  suddenly  she  sometimes  changes  her  garments !  Just  as  Mr. 
Slippey  was  about  to  extend  his  hand  and  take  hold  upon  this  felicity, 
there  suddenly  but  noiselessly  appeared  before  him,  leaning  against 
a  pile  of  salt,  the  tall  form  of  Mr.  Elias  Humphrey.  This  unexpected 
occurrence  so  surprised  Mr.  Slippey  that  he  could  not  find  words  with 
which  to  make  a  single  remark  by  way  either  of  remonstrance  or  of  in- 
terrogation. Mr.  Humphrey  seemed  for  a  moment  to  expect  some 
such  remark.  But  Mr.  Slippey  was  so  slow  in  beginning  that  he 
began  himself.  In  the  same  sad  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  in  the 
afternoon,  possibly  even  more  sad,  he  reminded  Mr.  Slippey  of  some 
of  the  favors  which  he  had  conferred  upon  him,  and  mildly  reproached 
him  with  ingratitude  in  refusing  the  loan  of  a  single  sack  of  salt  at  a 


lyo     .  DUKESBOROUCH   TALES. 

time  when  of  all  others  in  his  life  he,  Mr.  Humphrey,  most  urgently 
needed  it. 

Mr.  Slipper  began  to  feel  a  little,  a  very  little  better,  for  at  first  it 
occurred  to  him  that  this  must  surely  be  Mr.  Humphrey's  ghost. 
As  soon  as  he  heard  his  well-known  voice,  although  his  language  was 
certainly  much  improved,  he  became  partially  reassured.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  asking  him  to  take  a  seat,  and  of  telling  him  that  he  had 
been  thinking  about  the  matter  in  order  to  see  if  some  arrangement 
could  not  be  made.  But  while  he  was  getting  ready  to  say  all  this, 
his  visitor  with  even  an  increased  sadness  of  tone  and  exaltation  of 
manner  and  expression,  informed  him  that  he.  knew  what  he  was  going 
to  say,  but  that  it  was  now  too  late. 

"  Williamson  Slippe}',  don't  you  see  where  you  are  and  where  you 
are  going  ? " 

Mr.  Slippey  looked  around  and  concluded  that  he  was  in  his  own 
siore-room,  before  a  warm  fire,  in  his  own  arm-chair,  by  the  side  of  his 
own  table,  on  which  was  a  mug  with  the  remains  of  what  was  a  most 
excellent  whiskey-stew,  and  that  he  was  not  going  anywhere  just  then. 
He  would  probably  have  denied  about  the  stew,  but  there  was  the 
demijohn,  which  he  had  forgotten  to  hide  ;  and  then  somehow  Mr. 
Humphrey  looked  as  if  he  would  be  hard  to  fool.  So  Mr.  Slippey 
was  making  up  his  mind  to  answer  this  double  question  by  putting 
another  to  Mr.  Humphrey  ;  and  that  was,  how  he  came  where  he  was  ? 
It  was  right  here  that  Mr.  Slippey  thought  he  clearly  had  Mr.  Hum- 
phrey. But  he  was  so  slow  in  making  up  this  answer  that  Mr. 
Humphrey  began  upon  him  again. 

"Williamson  Slippey,  you  are  the  most  altered  man  I  ever  saw. 
Five  years  ago  you  came  to  this  place,  a  poor,  little,  insignificant 
fellow,  and  put  up  a  little  store.  It  was  such  a  little  thing  that  none 
but  poor  men  like  me  traded  with  you.  I  helped  you  along  in  various 
ways.  You  have  forgotten  them  now,  and  I  have  not  come  here 
especially  to  remind  you  of  them.  What  I  did  for  you  I  did  because, 
poor  as  I  was,  I  wanted  to  see  you  do  well.  I  knew  that  there  was 
not  much  in  you  any  way ;  yet  I  knew  you  were  poor,  and  I  did  think 
you  were  honest,  and  even  somewhat  kind-hearted."' 

In  spite  of  Mr.  Slippey's  growing  discomfort,  he  was  touched  by 
these  remarks  ;  for  he  had  never  before  heard  Mr.  Humphrey  (whom 
he  considered  an  unlearned  man)  employ  such  expressive  language. 
Mr.  Slippey,  at  the  allusion  to  his  former  virtues,  felt  his  eyes  to  be 
growing  a  little  moist.     Mr.  Humphrey  continued  : 


MR.   WILLIAMSON  SLIPPEY  AND  HIS  SALT.         171 

"  You  used  to  seem  to  be  satisfied  with  reasonable  profits  upon  your 
merchandise,  and  to  be  willing  to  allow  to  other  people  fair  prices  for 
what  they  might  have  to  exchange.  Indeed,  I  have  sometimes  kno\\  n 
you  to  give  little  things  in  the  way  of  charity.  And  then,  Slippey,  you 
certainly  were  a  sober  man.  You  can't  deny  that,  for  you  know  that 
I  have  often  heard  you  when  you  would  be  trying  to  make  little  bits 
of  temperance-speeches." 

Mr.  Slippey  looked  at  the  demijohn  and  then  at  the  mug.  As  he 
could  not  deny,  he  thought,  as  the  lawyers  do  sometimes  in  hard  cases, 
that  he  would  confess  and  avoid. 

"  Ca  —  case  —  case  o'  sickness,  'Lias.     Ca  —  case  — " 

But  Mr.  Humphrey  paid  no  attention  to  his  plea. 

"  But  now,  since  this  unhappy  war  has  come,  you  have  gradually 
grown  to  be  an  entirely  different  man.  You  have  speculated,  and 
speculated,  and  speculated.  The  more  money  you  have  made  the 
stingier  you  have  become,  even  to  your  own  family,  and  the  more  hard- 
hearted to  the  world.  You  have  prophesied  about  the  blockade  not 
being  raised,  and  about  the  continuance  of  the  war,  and  the  prospec- 
tive rise  in  the  price  of  salt,  until  you  have  not  only  become  bereft  of 
every  sentiment  of  charit}'  for  a  poor  man,  even  one  who  has  befriended 
you  as  I  have,  but  this  night,  yes  this  very  night,  you  are  a  traitor 
and  an  enemy  to  your  country." 

Mr.  Slippey  seemed  not  to  have  the  remotest  idea  of  what  to  say  in 
answer  to  such  talk  as  this.  He  felt  that  somehow  he  had  lost  his 
opportunity  in  the  beginning,  and  that  Mr.  Humphrey  had  gotten  the 
advantage  of  him  so  completely  that  now  it  seemed  useless  to  try  to 
recover  it.  He  could  only  throw  back  his  head,  and  with  eyes  and 
mouth  gaze  at,  and,  as  it  were,  take  in  Mr.  Humphrey.  The  latter, 
conscious  of  his  advantage,  pushed  on. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  repeat  it,  you  are  a  traitor  to  your  country.  You  ha\  e 
been  afraid,  actually  afraid,  that  the  blockade  would  be  raised,  and  that 
poor  men  like  me  would  be  able  to  get  those  things  which  if  they  do 
not  get  they  must  die.  The  cries  of  the  sick  and  the  dying,  not  only 
of  those  who  are  dying  from  pestilence  and  wounds,  but  from  that 
more  unhappy  malady  the  longing  for  home;  the  anguish  of  old  men 
and  women  and  children  for  the  absence  and  death  of  sons  and 
husbands  and  fathers,  and  the  miseries  of  all  the  poor  for  the  want  of 
corn  and  meat  and  clothes  and  shoes, —  all  these  are  nothing  to  you. 
You  have  speculated  in  many  ways.     But  lately  you  have  been  confin- 


172  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

ing  your  operations  to  salt :  to  salt,  of  all  things  the  most  needed  and 
the  hardest  for  poor  people  to  get.  You  have  bought  up  salt  until 
you  actually  lie  to  your  own  wife  both  as  to  the  quantity  which  you 
have  and  the  places  where  you  keep  it.  Not  satisfied  with  what  you 
have  and  the  ruinous  prices  at  which  you  sell  it,  you  sometimes  try  to 
imagine  that  you  are  the  sole  proprietor  of  all  the  fossil-beds  and 
brine-springs  of  Cheshire  and  Worcestershire." 

Now  Mr.  Slippey  thought  that  if  there  was  anything  that  he  would 
have  been  willing  to  swear  to,  it  was  that  Elias  Humphrey  had 
never  heard  of  Cheshire  and  Worcestershire,  or  of  fossil-beds  and 
brine-springs  ;  and  he  was  getting  confirmed  in  a  suspicion  which  he 
had  that  the  latter  had  been  in  the  store  long  before  he  had  exhibited 
himself.  Mr.  Slippev  therefore  had  some  vague  notion  of  saying  to 
Mr.  Humphrey  that  he  did  not  consider  such  conduct  exactly  fair. 
But  still  he  could  not  but  feel  that  the  advantage  was  yet  on  the  side 
of  Mr.  Humphrey,  and  that  the  latter  was  using  it  with  a  skilfulness 
that  was  becoming  very  oppressive. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  resumed  Mr.  Humphrey,  now  lifting  his  right  arm,  "  you 
have  dealt  in  salt  until  every  thought  of  your  mind  and  every  impulse 
of  your  whole  nature  are  of  nothing  but  salt.  Everything  you  look 
at  and  everything  you  think  about  are  connected  in  your  mind  with 
salt.  If  you  could  you  would  turn  j-our  own  wife  and  children  into 
salt,  believing  that  thus  they  would  be  of  more  value  to  you  than  as 
they  are  now.  You  are  in  a  worse  condition  than  the  poor  wife  of  the 
exiled  Lot.  She  was  changed  into  salt  only  for  disobedience  in  turn- 
ing to  look  back  once  more  upon  the  graves  of  her  fiithers  and  the 
home  of  her  youth.  You  have  become  a  living,  moving  pillar  of  salt, 
because  a  disastrous  war  has  made  this  necessary  article  of  life  pre- 
cious as  gold ;  and  aside  from  the  riches  you  make  out  of  it,  you  love 
to  be  pointed  at  by  the  lean  hands  of  the  poor,  and  hear  of  them 
saying,  '  Thor  goes  a  man  of  Salt.'  " 

Mr.  Slippey  began  to  perspire. 

"  Quotin'  Scripter  on  me  to  boot !  "  he  feebly  muttered.  Mr.  Hum- 
phrey had  now  gotten  so  far  above  him,  and  he  saw  he  had  heretofore 
so  far  underrated  him  both  as  to  the  amount  of  his  information  and 
his  powers  of  speech,  that  he  became  completely  hacked.  Mr.  Hum- 
phrey continued  his  pursuit. 

"  Hard-hearted  man,  and  proud  !  Hard-hearted  as  Abimelech,  son 
of  Jerubbaal,  who  murdered   his  seventy  brethren,  and  having  taken 


MR.  WILLIAMSON  SLIPPEY  AND  HIS  SALT.         173 

Shechem  and  slain  its  people,  beat  down  the  city  and  sowed  its  deso- 
lated streets  with  salt !  And  proud !  Yea,  this  poor  little  salt  mer- 
chant expects  to  be  famous,  even  as  David  gat  him  a  name  when  he 
returned  from  smiting  of  the  Syrians  in  the  Valley  of  Salt,  being 
eighteen  thousand  men." 

Mr.  Slippey  began  to  feel  as  if  the  roots  of  his  hair  would  not  be 
sufficient  to  keep  it  from  rising  from  his  head  and  leaving  it  perfectly 
bald. 

"  And  then  to  think,"  Mr.  Humphrey  went  on  — "  only  to  think  how 
utterly  mean  and  contemptible  you  have  become !  What  an  arrant 
coward !  What  an  egregious  liar !  Before  the  war  and  before  con- 
scription you  used  to  like  to  be  considered  a  smart  young  fellow.  But 
you  have  lately  been  growing  older  and  older  with  a  rapidity  unprece- 
dented in  human  life.  You  have  gotten  into  the  habit  lately  of  speaking 
of  yourself  as  an  aged  man,  weary  with  cares  and  the  weight  of  years. 
Ahead  of  conscription  in  the  beginning,  you  intend  to  keep  ahead  of 
it  to  the  end.  As  soon  as  it  was  hinted  that  if  the  war  should  continue 
another  year  the  Governor  would  call  out  the  militia  up  to  fifty-five 
years  of  age,  you  went  right  to  work  talking  about  things  that  happened 
before  you  were  born,  and  saying  that  younger  men  than  you  must 
fight  the  battles  of  the  country.  You  mean  to  keep  ahead  of  conscrip- 
tion and  yet  keep  up  the  activity  of  a  man  of  business.  If  it  were 
necessary  for  your  purposes,  you  would  be  as  old  as  the  Wandering 
Jew.  And  you  have  this  advantage  of  the  enrolling  officers  :  you 
come  of  such  a  low  family,  and  your  father  was  so  mean  and  poor 
and  ignorant  that  there  was  no  family  Bible  in  which  to  record  the 
date  of  your  birth,  and  there  is  not  a  respectable  man  living,  at  least 
in  this  neighborhood,  who  has  ever  concerned  himself  enough  about 
you  to  know  anything  of  your  age.  All  this  you  know,  and  you  glory 
in  it.    And  yet  you  don't  see  where  you  are  and  where  you  are  going." 

Here  Mr.  Humphrey  paused,  and  looked  as  if  he  intended  to  move 
himself  in  some  direction.  Mr.  Slippey,  hacked  as  he  was,  now 
thought  surely  he  must  say  something. 

"Ta  —  take  —  take  a  —  take  a  seat,  'Lias,  which  —  I  should  say  — 
Mister,  Mister  Humphrey.  Ta — take  a — seat  —  and  let  me — ex — ex- 
plain." 

Mr.  Humphrey,  instead  of  complying  with  this  request,'  moved  off  a 
little  to  one  side  and  stopped.  Mr.  Slippey,  without  moving  his 
body,  merely  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  his  visitor  with  a  sort  of 


174  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

cock-eyed  expression.     It  was  extremely  inconvenient,  and  made  him 
perspire  more  and  more. 

"Tha  —  thake  a — theat  —  pleathe  —  won't  you  thake  a — " 

Mr.  Humphrey,  without  heeding  these  words,  came  at  him  again  in 
this  wise  : 

"  But  you  could  not  do  all  this  without  some  compunctions.  To 
repress  these  you  have  taken  to  intemperance  —  to  whiskey-stew, 
forsooth  !  Day  after  day  have  you  been  tossed  to  and  fro  in  the  mad- 
dening vortex  of  speculation,  never  resting,  never  seeking  rest.  Only 
when  the  night  has  come,  forsaking  the  couch  of  the  wife  of  your 
bosom,  forsaking  the  society  of  the  children  who  have  been  born  to 
you,  and  who,  if  properly  nurtured  and  admonished,  might  have 
become  swift  and  unerring  arrows  in  the  full  quiver  of  a  stout  and  vir- 
tuous old  age,  you  have  been  coming  to  this  miserable  hole  in  order 
to  steep  your  reason  and  your  conscience  in  the  fumes  of  a  fiery  fluid 
that  is  consuming  the  last  substance  of  your  vitality.  The  amount 
and  the  quality  of  the  whiskey  that  you  have  consumed  within  the  last 
six  months  are  perfectly  shocking  to  humanity.  When  the  old-time 
whiskey  gave  out  or  got  too  high  for  your  mean,  stingy  soul,  you  began 
on  blackberry.  That  got  too  high,  and  you  went  to  potato.  Mean  as 
that  was,  you  went  lower  yet :  to  tomatoes  and  persimmon.  Oh,  how 
you  have  cheated  the  poor  people  in  this  neighborhood  out  of  persim- 
mon whiskey !  A  little  pocketful  of  salt  for  a  big  bottleful  of  per- 
simmon whiskey  !  And  then,  lower  yet,  China-berry  !  China-berry  ! 
Who  but  the  men  of  this  generation  would  ever  have  thought  of  making 
whiskey  from  China-berries  ? — China-berries  which  only  cows  and  robins 
eat ;  thus  taking  away  the  principal  article  of  food  from  the  innocent 
Robin-Redbreast,  the  sweet  songster  of  the  grove." 

These  words  about  the  robin  affected  Mr.  Slippey  to  tears.  He  saw 
himself  to  be  so  much  worse  than  he  had  believed  that  he  began  to 
despise  himself  Yet  he  could  but  feel  that  some  little  injustice  was 
done  him  in  this  last  charge,  having  acted  from,  as  he  thought,  no 
wanton  disregard  of  the  wants  of  that  favorite  bird. 

"Tha  —  thake  a  —  theat  —  Mith  —  Mith  —  Humph  —  and  let  me 
exth  —  exthpl  — " 

But  Mr.  Humphrey  was  deaf  to  his  entreaties. 

"And  now,  within  the  last  week,  you  have  descended  to  the  very 
bottom  of  this  last  infamy,  and  taken  to  So?-ghmn :  to  Sorghum  !  1 
repeat  it,"  almost  roared  Mr.   Humphrey,   "  of  all  vile  potations,  the 


MR.   WILLIAMSON  SLIPPEY  AND  HIS  SALT.         175 

vilest,  Sorghum  ;  the  very  most  fatal  device  which  war  and  the  evil 
spirit  have  concocted  together  for  the  ruin  of  this  unhappy  country. 
There  you  sit  even  now  with  an  exhausted  mug  of  stew  made  of  sor- 
ghum four  days  old ;  and  to  say  nothing  of  your  looks,  which  are 
wretched  in  the  extreme,  the  very  odors  you  and  your  mug  and  demi- 
john dispense  are  such  that  were  the  very  vulture  here,  the  vulture 
that  loves  to  riot  in  corruption,  and  had  he  the  opportunity  of  preying 
upon  your  dying  carcass,  he  would  consult  the  dignity  of  his  bill,  turn 
his  head,  plume  his  dusky  wings,  and  fly  away  to  distant  shores." 

Great  drops  of  sweat  now  formed  upon  Mr.  Slippey's  face,  and  were 
coursing  one  another  down  his  nose. 

"  And  now,"  asked  Mr.  Humphrey  with  earnest  compassion,  "  don't 
you  see  where  you  are  and  where  you  are  going  ?  No  he  don't.  The 
miserable  creature  don't !  Oh  Williamson  Slippey,  don't  you  see  that 
you  are  dying  and  going  to  perditum  ?  " 

The  poor  man  had  had  no  idea  of  being  so  near  his  earthly  end. 
Notwithstanding  his  advance  of  all  conscriptions,  both  past  and  pros- 
pective, he  yet  had  felt  within  himself  the  supplies  of  a  life  of  many 
years  to  come,  and  in  his  blindness  had  believed  that  sorghum-stews 
were  furnishing  strength  far  behind  his  age.  But  now  these  words  fell 
upon  his  ears  with  the  import  of  doom.  His  heart  ceased  to  beat. 
His  tongue  could  no  longer  articulate.  Earthly  objects  were  fading 
from  his  vision,  and  with  unutterable  horror  he  beheld  the  approach 
of  the  eternal  burnings.  Oh  for  a  little  more  of  life  !  Oh  for  the 
opportunity  of  repenting  and  of  distributing  his  salt  among  the  poor ! 
Too  late  !  On  the  fires  came  rolling  and  roaring.  Feet  foremost  Mr. 
Slippey  glided  to  meet  them. 

"Oh!  Oh!!  Oh!!  Oh!!!  Oh!!!!"  screamed  the  unhappy  man, 
and  gave  it  up. 

At  least  so  he  believed. 

But  Mr.  Slippey  fortunately  was  mistaken.  He  was  not  quite  dead, 
although  the  fire  and  the  sorghum-stew  had  come  near  finishing  him. 
He  had  fallen  to  sleep  and  to  dreaming,  and  had  subsided  in  his 
chair  until  his  head  was  hanging  ov^er  the  arm  next  the  fire.  Its 
weight  and  that  of  his  other  upper  parts  had  pushed  one  leg  so  far  in 
that  direction  that  his  trowsers  caught  the  blaze  and  his  calf  began  to 
burn.  The  fire  and  the  shriek  awoke  the  sleeper,  and  it  was  half  a 
minute  before  he  could  convince  himself  that  he  was  not  where  Mr. 
Humphrey  had  said  he  was  going.     With  many  a  slap  and  some  kicks, 


176  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

having  found  out  the  state  of  things  and  extinguished  the  flames,  he 
went  with  speed  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  thought  that  the  cool 
night-air  never  had  felt  so  fresh  and  so  nice. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Slippey  was  observed  to  have  on  a  new  pair 
of  trowsers  and  to  limp  slightly.  On  that  day  he  sold  out  his  whole 
stock  except  two  sacks,  which  before  night  were  in  Elias  Humphrey's 
smoke-house.  In  a  very  short  time  Mr.  Slippey  with  his  family 
started  off  in  a  southwesterly  direction  from  Atlanta,  and  it  was  sup- 
posed succeeded  in  getting  to  Texas,  whither  he  seemed  to  be  bound. 


INVESTIGATIONS   CONCERNING  MR. 
JONAS  LIVELY. 


"  I  well  believe 

Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know, 

And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee." 

Shakspeare. 

"Man  is  but  half  without  woman." 

Bailey. 


CHAPTER   I. 

ALTHOUGH  Mr.  Bill  Williams  had  moved  into  Dukesborough, 
this  exaltation  did  not  seem  to  interfere  with  the  cordial  relations 
established  between  him  and  myself  at  the  Lorriby  school.  He  used  to 
come  out  occasionally  on  visits  to  his  mother,  and  seldom  returned 
without  calling  at  our  house.  This  occurred  most  usually  upon  the 
Sundays  when  the  monthly  meetings  were  held  in  the  church  at 
Dukesborough.  On  such  days  he  and  I  usually  rode  home  together, 
I  upon  my  pony  and  he  upon  a  large  brown  mare  which  his  mother 
had  sent  to  him  in  the  forenoon. 

Ever  since  those  remote  times  I  have  associated  in  my  memory  Mr. 
Bill  with  that  mare,  and  one  or  another  of  her  many  colts.  According 
to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  she  was  for  years  and  years  never 
without  a  colt.  Her  normal  condition  seemed  to  be  always  to  be 
followed  by  a  colt.  Sometimes  it  was  a  horse-colt  and  sometimes 
a  mule ;  for  the  planters  in  those  times  raised  at  home  all  their 
domestic  animals.  And  what  a  lively  little  fellow  this  colt 
always  was  ;  and  what  an  anxious  parent  was  old  Molly  Sparks,  as 
Mr.  Bill  called  the  dam !  How  that  colt  would  run  about  and  get 
23 


178  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

mixed  up  with  the  horses  in  the  grove  around  the  church ;  and  how 
the  old  mare  would  whicker  all  during  the  service !  I  knew  that 
whicker  among  a  hundred.  Mr.  Bill  used  always  to  tie  her  to  a 
swinging  limb ;  for  her  anxiety  would  sometimes  cause  her  to  break 
the  frail  bridle  which  usually  confined  her,  and  run  all  about  the 
grounds  in  pursuit  of  her  truant  offspring.  Mr.  Bill  had  also  to  sit 
where  he  could  see  her  in  order  to  be  ready  for  all  difficulties.  I 
used  to  be  amused  to  notice  how  he  would  be  annoyed  by  her  cries 
and  prancings,  and  how  he  would  pretend  to  be  listening  intently  to 
the  sermon  when  his  whole  attention  I  knew  to  be  on  old  Mary  and 
the  colt.  Seldom  was  there  a  Sunday  that  he  did  not  have  to  leave 
the  church  in  order  to  catch  old  Mary  and  tie  her  up  again.  This 
was  a  catastrophe  he  was  ever  dreading,  because  he  really  disliked  to 
disturb  the  service ;  and  he  had  the  consideration  when  he  rose  to  go 
to  place  his  handkerchief  to  his  face,  that  the  congregation  might 
suppose  that  his  nose  was  bleeding. 

While  we  would  be  riding  home,  the  conduct  of  that  colt,  if  anything, 
would  be  worse  than  at  the  church.  His  fond  parent  would  exert 
every  effort  to  keep  him  by  her  side,  but  he  would  get  mixed  up  with 
the  horses  more  than  before.  Twenty  times  would  he  be  lost.  Some- 
times he  would  be  at  an  immense  distance  behind ;  then  he  would 
pretend,  as  it  seemed,  to  be  anxiously  looking  for  his  mother,  and 
would  run  violently  against  every  horse,  whether  under  the  saddle  or 
in  harness.  Old  Mary  would  wheel  around  and  try  to  get  back,  her 
whickers  ever  resounding  far  and  wide.  When  the  colt  would  have 
enough  of  this  frolic,  or  some  one  of  the  home-returning  horsemen 
would  give  him  a  cut  with  his  riding-switch,  he  would  get  out  upon  the 
side  of  the  road,  run  at  full  speed  past  his  dam  and  get  similarly  mixed 
up  with  the  horses  in  front.  If  he  ever  got  where  she  was  he  would 
appear  to  be  extravagantly  gratified,  and  would  make  an  immediate 
and  violent  effort  to  have  himself  suckled.  Failing  in  this,  he  would 
let  fly  his  hind  legs  at  her,  and  dash  off  again  at  full  speed  in  whatever 
direction  his  head  happened  to  be  turned.  Mr.  Bill  would  often  say 
that  of  all  the  fools  he  ever  saw,  old  Molly  and  her  colt  were  the 
biggest.  As  for  my  part,  the  anxiety  of  the  parent  seemed  to  me 
natural  in  the  circumstances ;  but  I  must  confess  that  in  the  matter  of 
the  quality  usually  called  discretion,  while  the  young  of  most  animals 
have  little  of  it  usually,  I  have  frequently  thought  that  of  -all  others 
the  one  who  had  the  least  amount  was  the  colt. 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  179 

Yet  I  did  not  intend  to  speak  of  such  a  trifling  matter,  but  ^vas  led 
to  it  unwarily  by  the  association  of  ideas.  Mr.  Bill  often  accepted  our 
invitations  to  dinner  upon  these  Sundays,  or  he  would  walk  over  in 
the  afternoon.  Although  he  liked  much  the  society  of  my  parents, 
yet  he  was  fondest  of  being  with  me  singly.  I  was  certainly  more 
appreciative  of  his  conversation  than  they  were.  With  all  his  fondness 
for  talking,  there  was  some  constraint  upon  him,  especially  in  the 
presence  of  my  father,  for  whom  he  had  the  profoundest  respect.  So, 
somehow  or  other  Mr.  Bill  and  I  would  get  away  to  ourselves,  when 
he  could  display  his  full  powers  in  that  line.  This  was  easily  prac- 
ticable, as  never  or  seldom  did  such  a  day  pass  without  our  having 
other  guests  to  dinner  from  among  those  neighbors  who  resided  at  a 
greater  distance  from  the  village  than  we  did.  Our  table  on  these 
Sundays  was  always  extended  to  two  or  three  times  its  usual  length. 
My  parents,  though  they  were  religious,  thought  there  was  no  harm  in 
detaining  some  of  these  neighbors  to  dinner  and  during  the  remainder 
of  the  day. 

Mr.  Bill  had  evidently  realised  his  expectations  of  the  pleasures  and 
advantages  of  town-life.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  greatly  im- 
proved by  it.  He  had  evidently  laid  aside  some  of  his  ancient  awk- 
wardness and  hesitation  of  manner.  He  talked  more  at  his  ease. 
Then  he  gave  a  more  careful  and  fashionable  turn  to  his  hair,  and,  I 
thought,  combed  and  brushed  it  oftener  than  he  had  been  wont.  His 
trousers  too  were  better  pulled  up,  and  his  shirt-collar  was  now  never  or 
seldom  without  the  necessary  button.  I  was  therefore  somewhat  sur- 
prised to  hear  my  father  remark  more  than  once  that  he  did  not  think 
that  town-life  was  exactly  the  best  thing  for  Mr.  Bill,  and  that  he 
would  not  be  surprised  if  he  would  not  have  done  better  to  keep  at 
home  with  his  mother.  But  Mr.  Bill  grew  more  and  more  fond  of 
Dukesborough,  and  he  used  to  relate  to  me  some  of  the  remarkable 
things  that  occurred  there.  About  every  one  of  the  hundred  inhabi- 
tants of  the  place  and  those  who  visited  it,  he  knew  everything  that 
by  any  possibility  could  be  ascertained.  He  used  to  contend  that  it 
was  a  merchant's  business  to  know  everybody,  and  especially  those 
who  tried  to  conceal  their  affairs  from  universal  observation.  He  had 
not  been  very  long  in  Dukesborough  before  he  could  answer  almost 
any  question  you  could  put  to  him  about  any  of  his  fellow-citizens. 

With  one  exception. 

This  was  Mr.  Jonas  Lively. 


i8o  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

He  was  too  hard  a  case  for  Mr.  Bill.  Neither  he  nor  any  other 
person,  not  even  Mrs.  Hodge,  seemed  to  know  much  about  him.  The 
late  Mr.  Hodge  probably  knew  more  than  anybody  else  ;  but  if  he 
did,  he  did  not  tell  anybody,  and  now  he  was  dead  and  gone,  and  Mr. 
Lively  was  left  comparatively  unknown  to  the  world. 

Where  Mr.  Liv^ely  had  come  from  originally  people  did  not  know 
for  certain,  although  he  had  been  heard  occasionally  to  use  expres- 
sions which  induced  the  belief  that  he  might  have  been  a  native  of  the 
State  of  North  Carolina.  It  Vas  ascertained  that  he  had  done  busi- 
ness for  some  years  in  Augusta,  and  some  said  that  he  yet  owned  a 
little  property  there.  This  much  was  certain  that  he  went  there  or 
somewhere  else  once  every  winter,  and  after  remaining  about  a  month, 
returned,  as  was  supposed,  with  two  new  vests  and  pairs  of  trousers. 
At  the  time  I  began  to  take  an  interest  in  him,  in  sympathy  with  Mr. 
Bill,  he  had  been  residing  at  Dukesborough  for  about  two  years ;  not 
exactly  at  Dukesborough  either,  but  something  less  than  a  mile 
outside,  where  he  boarded  with  the  Hodges,  occupying  a  small 
building  in  one  corner  of  the  yard,  which  they  called  "  The  Office," 
and  in  which  before  he  came  the  family  used  to  take  their  meals.  He 
might  have  had  his  chamber  in  the  main  house  where  the  others  stayed 
but  for  one  thing ;  for  besides  the  two  main  rooms  there  were  a 
couple  of  low-roofed  shed-rooms  in  front,  only  one  of  which  was 
occupied  by  Susan  Temple,  a  very  poor  relation  of  Mr.  Hodge. 
There  were  no  children,  and  Mr.  Lively  might  have  had  the  other 
shed-room  across  the  piazza  but  for  the  fact  that  it  was  devoted  to 
another  purpose.     Mr.  Hodge  — 

But  one  at  a  time.  Let  me  stick  to  Mr.  Lively  for  the  present,  and 
tell  what  little  was  known  about  him. 

Mr.  Lively  was  about  fifty-one  or  two  years  of  age.  Mr.  Bill  used 
to  insist  that  he  would  never  see  fifty-five  again,  and  that  he  would  not 
be  surprised  if  he  was  sixty.  I  have  no  idea  but  that  this  was  an 
over-estimate.  The  truth  is  that,  as  I  have  often  remarked,  young 
men  like  Mr.  Bill  are  prone  to  assign  too  great  age  to  elderly  men, 
especially  when,  like  Mr.  Lively,  they  are  unmarried.     But  let  that  go. 

Mr.  Lively  was  about  five  feet  five,  quite  stout  in  body,  but  of 
moderate-sized  legs.  He  had  a  brown  complexion,  brown  hair  and 
black  eyebrows.  His  eyes  were  a  mild  green,  with  some  tinge  of  red 
in  the  whites.  His  nose  was  Roman,  or  would  have  been  if  it  had  been 
longer  3  for  just  as  it  began  to  hook  and  to  become  Roman  it  stopped 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  i8i 

short,  as  if  upon  reflection  it  thought  it  wrong  to  ape  ancient  and 
especially  foreign  manners.  He  always  wore  a  long  black  frock-coat, 
either  gray  or  black  trousers  and  vest,  and  a  very  stout  low-crowned 
furred  hat.  He  carried  a  hickory  walking-stick  with  a  hooked 
handle. 

IMr.  Lively  had  come  to  the  neighborhood  about  two  years  before 
and  taken  board  at  the  Hodges'.  He  had  never  seemed  to  have  any 
regular  business.  True,  he  would  be  known  sometimes  to  buy  a 
bale  of  cotton,  or  it  might  be  two  or  three,  and  aftei'wards  have 
them  hauled  to  Augusta  by  some  neighbor's  wagon  when  the 
latter  would  be  carrying  his  own  to  market.  Then  he  occasionally 
bought  a  poor  horse  out  of  a  wagon  and  kept  it  at  the  Hodges'  for  a 
couple  of  months,  and  got  him  fat  and  sold  him  again  at  a  smart 
profit.  He  was  a  capital  doctor  of  horses,  and  was  suspected  of 
being  somewhat  proud  of  his  skill  in  that  line,  as  he  would  cheerfully 
render  his  services  when  called  upon,  and  always  refused  any  com- 
pensation. But  when  he  traded,  he  traded.  If  he  bought,  he  put 
down  squarely  into  the  seller's  hands ;  if  he  sold,  the  money  had  to 
be  put  squarely  into  his.  Such  transactions  were  rare,  however ;  he 
certainly  made  but  little  in  that  way.  But  then  he  spent  less. 
Besides  five  dollars  a  month  for  board  and  lodging,  he  furnishing  his 
own  room,  if  he  was  out  any  more  nobody  knew  what  it  was  for. 

He  was  a  remarkably  silent  man.  Although  he  came  into  Dukes- 
borough  almost  every  day,  he  had  but  little  to  say  to  anybody  and 
stayed  but  a  short  time.  The  greater  part  of  the  remainder  of  the 
day  he  spent  at  home,  partly  in  walking  about  the  place  and  partly  in 
reading  w-hile  sitting  in  his  chamber,  or  in  the  piazza  between  the 
two  little  shed-rooms  in  the  front  part  of  the  house.  He  never  went 
to  church ;  yet  upon  Sundays  he  read  the  Bible  and  other  religious 
books  almost  the  livelong  da3^ 

In  the  life-time  of  Mr.  Hodge  he  was  supposed  to  know  considerable 
about  Mr.  Lively.  The  latter  certainly  used  to  talk  with  him  with 
more  freedom  than  with  any  other  person.  Mrs.  Hodge  never  was 
able  to  get  much  out  of  Mr.  Lively,  notwithstanding  that  she  was  a 
woman  who  was  remarkably  fond  of  obtaining  as  much  information 
as  possible  about  other  persons.  She  used  to  give  it  as  her  opinion 
that  there  was  nothing  in  Mr.  Lively,  and  in  his  absence  would  talk 
and  laugh  freely  at  his  odd  ways  and  looks.  But  Mr.  Hodge  at  such 
times  (when  he  felt  that  it  was  safe  to  do  so)  would  mildly  rebuke  Ws 


i82  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

wife.  After  Mr.  Hodge  had  died,  the  opinion  became  general  that 
no  person  was  likely  to  succeed  him  in  Mr.  Liv^ely's  confidence,  and 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  dissatisfaction  upon  the  subject. 

Mr.  Bill  Williams  felt  this  dissatisfaction  to  an  uncommon  degree. 
Being  now  a  citizen  of  Dukesborough,  he  felt  himself  strongly  bound 
to  be  thoroughly  identified  with  all  its  interests.  Any  man  that 
thus  kept  himself  apart  from  society  and  refused  to  allow  everybody 
to  know  all  about  himself  and  his  business,  was  in  his  opinion  a 
suspicious  character,  and  ought  to  be  watched.  What  seemed  to 
concern  him  more  than  anything  else  was  a  question  frequently 
mooted  as  to  whether  Mr.  Lively's  hair  was  his  own  or  was  a  wig. 
Such  a  thing  as  the  latter  had  never  been  seen  in  the  town,  and  there- 
fore the  citizens  were  not  familiar  with  it ;  but  doubts  were  raised 
from  the  peculiar  way  in  which  Mr.  Lively's  hung  from  his  head,  and 
there  were  others  besides  Mr.  Bill  who  would  have  liked  to  see  them 
settled  —  not  that  this  would  have  fully  satisfied  him,  but  he  would 
have  felt  something  better.  Mr.  Bill  desired  to  know  all  about  Mr. 
Lively,  it  is  true  ;  yet  if  he  had  been  allowed  to  investigate  him  fully, 
he  certainly  would  have  begun  with  his  head.  "  The  fact  of  it  ar,"  he 
maintained,  "  that  it  aint  right.  It  aint  right  to  the  Dukesborough 
people,  and  it  aint  right  to  the  transhent  people.  Transhent  people 
comes  here  goin  through,  and  stops  all  night  at  Spouter's  tavern. 
They  ax  about  the  place  and  the  people  \  and  who  knows  but  what 
some  of  'em  mout  wish  to  buy  propty  and  come  and  settle  here  ?  In 
cose  I  in  ginerly  does  most  o'  the  talkin  to  sich  people,  and  tells  'em 
about  the  place  and  the  people.  I  don't  like  to  be  obleeged  to  tell 
'em  that  we  has  one  suspicious  character  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
which  he  ar  so  suspicious  that  he  don't  never  pull  off  his  hat,  and  that 
people  don't  know  whether  the  very  har  on  his  head  ar  his'n  or  not. 
I  tell  you  it  aint  right.  I  made  up  my  mind  the  first  good  chance  I 
git  to  ax  Mr.  Lively  a  few  civil  questions  about  hisself '•' 

It  was  not  very  long  after  this  before  an  opportunity  was  presented 
to  Mr.  Bill  of  chatting  a  little  with  Mr.  Lively.  The  latter  had 
walked  into  the  store  one  morning  when  there  was  no  other  person 
there  except  Mr.  Bill,  and  inquired  for  some  drugs  to  give  to  a  sick 
horse.  Mr.  Bill  carefully  but  slowly  made  up  the  bundle,  when  the 
following  dialogue  took  place  : 

"  I'm  monstous  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Lively ;  you  don't  come  into 
the*  store  so  monstous  powerful  ofting.     I  wish  I  could  see  you  here 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  183 

more  ofting.  Not  as  I'm  so  mighty  powerful  anxious  to  sell  goods, 
though  that's  my  business,  and  in  course  I  feels  better  when  trade's 
brisk  ;  but  I  jest  nately  would  like  to  see  you.  You  may  not  know 
it,  Mr.  Lively,  but  I  don't  expect  you've  got  a  better  friend  in  this 
here  town  than  what  I  am." 

Mr.  Bill  somehow  couldn't  find  exactly  where  the  twine  was ;  he 
looked  about  for  it  in  several  places,  especially  where  it  was  quite 
unlikely  that  it  should  be.     Mr.  Lively  was  silent. 

"  I  has  thought,"  continued  Mr.  Bill,  after  finding  his  twine,  "  that  I 
would  like  to  talk  with  you  sometimes.  The  people  is  always  a 
inquirin  of  me  about  where  you  come  from  and  all  sich,  and  what 
business  j'ou  used  to  follow,  jest  like  they  thought  you  and  me  was' 
intimate  friends, —  which  I  am  as  good 'a  friend  as  you've  got  in  the 
v.'hole  town,  and  which  I  spose  you're  a  friend  of  mine.  I  tells  'em 
)'-ou're  a  monstous  fine  man  in  my  opinion,  and  I  spose  I  does  know 
you  about  as  well  as  anybody  else  about  here.  But  yit  we  haint  had 
no  long  continyed  convisation  like  I  thought  we  mout  have  some  time, 
when  it  mout  be  convenant,  and  we  mout  talk  all  about  old  North 
Calliner  whar  you  come  from,  and  which  my  father  he  come  from  thar 
too,  which  he  ar  now  dead  and  gone.  Law !  how  he  did  love  to 
talk  about  that  old  country  !  and  how  he  did  love  the  people  that 
come  from  thar.  If  my  father  was  here,  which  now  he  ar  dead  and 
gone,  he  wouldn't  let  you  rest  wheresomever  he  mout  see  you  for 
talkin  about  old  North  Calliner  and  them  old  people  thar." 

Mr.  Bill  handed  the  parcel  over  to  Mr.  Lively  with  as  winning  a  look 
as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  bestow.  Mr.  Lively  seemed  slightly 
interested.. 

"  And  your  father  was  from  North  Carolina  ?  " 

"  Certinly,"  answered  Mr.  Bill  with  glee  ;  "  right  from  Tar  River. 
I've  heern  him  and  mammy  say  so  nigh  and  in  and  about  a  thousand 
times,  I  do  believe."  And  Mr.  Bill  advanced  from  behind  the  counter, 
came  up  to  Mr.  Lively,  and  looked  kindly  and  neighborly  upon  him. 

"  Do  you  ever  think  about  going  there  yourself? "  inquired  the 
latter. 

Mr.  Bill  did  that  very  thing  over  and  ofting.  From  a  leetle  bit  of  a 
boy  he  had  thought  how  he  would  like  to  go  thar  and  see  them  old 
people.  If  he  lived,  he  would  go  thar  some  day  to  that  old  place  and 
see  them  old  people. 

From  the  way  Mr,  Bill  talked,  it  seemed  that  his  ideas  were  that 


i84  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

the  North  Carolinians  all  resided  at  one  particular  place,  and  that 
they  were  all  quite  aged  persons.  But  this  was  possibly  intended  as 
a  snare  to  catch  Mr.  Lively,  by  paying  in  this  indirect  manner  respect 
for  his  advanced  age. 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Lively,  while  he  stored  away  the  parcel  in 
his  capacious  pocket,  "you  ought  to  go  there  by  all  means.  If  you 
should  ever  go  there,  you  will  find  as  good  people  as  you  ever  saw  in 
3'our  life.  They  are  a  peaceable  people,  those  North  Carolinians,  and 
industrious.  You  hardly  ever  see  a  man  there  that  has  not  got  some 
sort  of  business ;  and  then,  as  a  general  thing,  people  there  attend  to 
their  own  business  and  don't  bother  themselves  about  other  people's." 

Mr.  Lively  then  turned  and  walked  slowly  to  'the  door.  As  he 
reached  it,  he  turned  again  a:nd  said  : 

"  Oh  yes,  Mr.  Williams,  you  ought  to  go  there  and  see  that  people 
once  before  you  die  ;  it  would  do  you  good.  Good-daj'-,  Mr.  Wil- 
liams." 

After  Mr.  Lively  had  gotten  out  of  the  store  and  taken  a  few  steps, 
Mr.  Bill  went  to  the  door,  looked  at  him  in  silence  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and  then  made  the  following  soliloquy : 

"  Got  no  more  manners  than  a  hound.  I  axed  him  a  civil  question, 
and  see  what  I  got !  But  never  mind,  I'll  find  out  somethin  about  you 
yit.  Now,  aint  thar  a  picter  of  a  man  !  Well  you  cars  a  walkin-stick  : 
them  legs  needs  all  the  help  they  can  git  in  totin  the  balance  of  you 
about.  And  jest  look  at  that  har  :  I  jest  know  it  aint  all  his'n.  'But 
never  do  you  mind." 

After  this,  Mr.  Bill  seemed  to  regard  it  as  a  point  of  honor  to  find 
Mr.  Lively  out.  Hitherto  he  had  owed  it  to  the  public  mainly ;  now, 
there  was  a  debt  due  to  himself  He  had  propounded  to  Mr.  Lively 
a  civil  question,  and  instead  of  getting  a  civil  answer  had  been  as 
good  as  laughed  at.  Mr.  Lively  might  go  for  the  present,  but  he 
should  be  up  with  him  in  time. 

It  was  perhaps  fortunate  for  Mr.  Bill's  designs,  as  well  for  the 
purposes  of  this  narrative,  that  he  was  slightly  akin  to  Mrs.  Hodge, 
whom  he  occasionally  visited.  However,  we  have  seen  that  this  lady 
had  known  heretofore  about  as  little  of  her  guest  as  other  people,  and 
that,  at  least  in  the  life-time  of  Mr.  Hodge,  her  opinion  was  that  there 
was  nothing  in  him.  True,  since  Mr.  Hodge's  death  she  had  been 
more  guarded  in  her  expressions.  Mrs.  Hodge  probably  reflected 
that  now  she  was  a  lone  woman  in  the  world,  except  Susan  Temple, 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  185 

who  was  next  to  nothing,  she  ought  to  be  particular.  Mr.  Bill  had 
sounded  his  cousin  Malviny  (as  he  called  her)  heretofore,  and  of 
course  could  get  nothing  more  than  she  had  to  impart.  He  might 
give  up  some  things,  but  they  were  not  of  the  kind  we  are  considering. 
He  informed  me  one  day  that  on  one  subject  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  take  the  responsibihty.  This  expression  reminded  me  of  our 
last  day  with  the  Lorribies,  and  I  hesitated  whether  the  fullest  reliance 
could  be  placed  upon  such  a  threat.     But  I  said  nothing. 

"  That  thing,"  he  continued,  "  are  the  circumsance  of  his  har  :  which 
it  ar  my  opinion  that  it  ar  not  all  liis'n :  which  I  has  never  seed  a  wig, 
but  has  heern  of  'em  ;  and  which  it  ar  my  opinion  that  that  har  ar  a 
imposition  on  the  public,  and  also  on  Cousin  Malviny  Hodge,  and  he 
a  livin  in  her  very  house  —  leastways  in  the  office.  I  mout  be  mis- 
taken ;  ef  so,  I  begs  his  pardon :  though  he  have  not  got  the  manners 
of  a  hound,  no,  not  even  to  answer  a  civil  question.  Still  I  wouldn't 
wish  to  hurt  a  har  of  his  head  ;  no,  not  even  ef  it  war  not  all  his'n. 
Yit  the  public  have  a  right  to  know,  and  —  I  wants  to  know  myself 
And  I'm  gittin  tired  of  sich  foolin  and  bamboozlin,  so  to  speak ;  and 
the  fact  ar,  that  Mr.  Lively  ar  got  to  'splain  hisself  on  the  circumsance 
o'  that  har." 

The  next  time  I  met  Mr.  Bill  he  was  delighted  with  some  recent 
and  important  information.     I  shall  let  him  speak  for  himself 


CHAPTER   II. 

Mr.  Bill  had  come  over  to  our  house  one  Sunday  to  dinner.  I 
knew  from  his  looks  upon  entering  that  he  had  something  to  com- 
municate. As  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  and  he  could  decently  do  so, 
he  proposed  a  walk  to  me.  My  father  was  much  amused  at  the 
intimacy  between  us,  and  I  could  sometimes  observe  a  quiet  smile 
upon  his  face  when  we  would  start  out  together  upon  one  of  our 
afternoon  strolls.  As  I  was  rather  small  for  nine,  and  Mr.  Bill  rather 
large  for  nineteen  years  old,  I  suppose  it  was  somewhat  ludicrous  to 
observe  such  a  couple  sustaining  to  each  other  the  relation  of  equality. 
Mr.  Bill  seemed  to  regard  me  as  fully  his  equal  except  in  the  matter 
of  size,  and  I  had  come  to  feel  as  much  ease  in  his  society  as  if  he 
had  been  of  my  own  age.  By  his  residence  in  town  he  had  acquired 
24 


i86  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

some  sprightliness  of  manner  and  conversation  which  made  him  more 
interesting  to  me  than  formerly.  This  sprightliness  was  manifested 
by  his  forbearing  to  call  me  Squire  persistently,  and  varying  my  name 
with  that  ease  and  freedom  which  town-people  learn  so  soon  to 
employ.     This  was  interesting  to  me. 

When  we  had  gotten  out  of  the  yard  and  into  the  grove,  Mr.  Bill 
began : 

"  Oh,  my  friend,  friend  of  my  boyhood's  sunny  hour,  I've  been  nigh 
and  in  about  a  dyin  to  see  you,  especially  sence  night  afore  last  — 
sence  I  caught  old  Jonah." 

'•'  Have  you  caught  him,  ISIr.  Bill  ? " 

"  Caught  him  !  Treed  him.  Not  ezactly  treed  him  neither ;  but 
runned  him  to  his  holler.     I  told  you  I  was  goin  to  do  it." 

Seeing  that  I  did  not  clearly  understand,  Mr.  Bill  smiled  with 
delight  at  the  felicitous  manner  in  which  he  had  begun  his  narrative. 
We  proceeded  a  little  farther  to  a  place  where  a  huge  oak-tree  had 
protruded  its  roots  from  the  ground.     There  we  sat,  and  he  resumed : 

"Yes,  Sir,  I  runned  him  right  into  his  holler.  And  now.  Squire, 
I'm  goin  to  tell  you  a  big  secret ;  and  you  are  the  onliest  man, 
Phillmon  Pearch,  that  I've  told  it,  becase,  you  see,  the  circumsances 
is  sich  that  it  won't  do  to  tell  too  many  people  nohow  ;  becase  you  see 
Mr.  Lively  he  ar  a  curis  sort  o'  man,  I'm  afeard.  And  then  you 
know,  Philip,  you  and  me  has  been  thick  and  jest  like  brothers,  and 
I'll  tell  to  you  what  I  wouldn't  tell  to  no  monstous  powerful  chunce  o' 
people  nohow.  And  ef  it  was  to  git  out,  people,  and  specially  other 
people,  mout  say  that  —  ah  —  I  didn't  —  ah  —  do  ezactly  right.  And 
then  thar's  Cousin  Malviny  Hodge.  Somehow  Cousin  Malviny  she 
aint  —  somehow  she  aint  ezactly  like  she  used  to  be  in  Daniel  Hodge's 
life-time.  Wimming  is  right  curis  things,  Squire,  specially  arfter  thar 
husbands  dies.  I  never  should  a  blieved  it  of  her  arfter  what  I've 
heern  her  say  and  go  on  about  that  old  feller.  But  wimming's  wim- 
ming ;  and  they  ar  going  to  be  so  always.  But  that's  neither  here 
nor  thar :  j'ou  mustn't  let  on  that  I  said  a  word  about  him." 

I  felt  flattered  by  this  the  first  confidential  communication  I  had 
ever  received,  and  promised  secrecy. 

"Well,  you  see.  Squire  Phil,  I  axed  Mr.  Lively  as  far  and  civil 
question  as  one  gentleman  could  ax  another  gentleman,  becase  I 
thought  that  people  had  a  right  and  was  liable  to  know  sojncthiii  about 
a  man  who  live  in  the  neighborhood,  and  been  a  livin  thar  for  the  last 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  187 

• 
two  year  and  never  yit  told  a  human  anything  about  hisself,  exceptin 
it  mout  be  to  Daniel  Hodge,  which  he  are  now  dead  and  gone,  and 
not  even  Cousin  Malviny  don't  know.  Leastways  didn't.  I  don't 
know  what  she  mought  know  now.  Oh  wimming,  wimming !  They 
won't  do,  Philip.  But  let  'em  go.  I  axed  Mr.  Lively  a  civil  question. 
One  day  when  he  come  in  the  sto'  I  axed  him  as  polite  and  civil  as 
I  knowed  how  about  gittin  a  little  bit  acquainted  along  with  him,  and 
which  I  told  him  I  was  friendly,  and  also  all  about  my  father  comin 
from  North  Calliner,  thinkin  may  be,  as  he  come  from  thar  too,  he 
mout  have  a  sorter  friendly  to  me  in  a  likewise  way,  ef  he  didn't 
keer  about  bein  so  monstous  powerful  friendly  to  the  people  in  ginerl, 
which  the  most  of  'em,  you  know,  like  your  folks,  they  mostly  come 
from  old  Firginny.  You  see  I  sorter  slyly  baited  my  hook  with  old 
North  Calliner.  But  nary  bite  did  I  git  —  no,  nary  nibble.  The  old 
fellow  look  at  me  mighty  interestin  while  I  war  a  goin  on  about  the 
old  country,  and  arfter  I  got  through  he  smiled  calm  as  a  summer 
evenin  like  —  so  to  speak  —  and  then  I  thought  we  was  goin  to  have 
a  good  time.  Instid  o'  that,  he  axed  me  ef  I  war  ever  expectin  to 
ever  go  thar,  and  then  said  that  I  ought  to  go  thar  by  all  means  and 
see  them  old  people ;  and  then  he  sorter  hinted  agin  me  for  axin  about 
him  bein  from  thar,  becase  he  was  mighty  particler  to  say  that  them 
old  people  in  ginerly  was  mighty  fond  o'  tending  to  their  own  business 
and  lettin  t'other  people's  alone.  Which  I  don't  have  to  be  kicked 
down  stairs  befo'  I  can  take  a  hint.  And  so  I  draps  the  subject; 
which  in  fact  I  was  obleeged  to  *drap  it,  becase  no  sooner  he  said  it 
he  went  right  straight  immejantly  outen  the  sto'.  But,  thinks  I  to 
myself,  says  I,  I'll  head  you  yit,  Mr.  Lively.  I'll  find  out  sumthin 
about  you,  ef  it  be  only  whether  that  head  o'  har  ar  yourn  or  not." 

"  Is  it  a  wig  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Phillimon,"  said  Mr.  Bill,  in  a  tone  intended  to  be  considered  as 
remonstrative  against  all  improper  haste — "Phillemon  Pearch,  when 
a  man  ar  goin  to  tell  you  a  interestin  circumsance  about  a  highly 
interestin  character,  so  to  speak,  you  mustn't  ax  him  about  the  last 
part  befo'  he  git  thoo  the  first  part.  If  you  does,  the  first  part  mout 
not  have  a  far  chance  to  be  interestive,  and  both  parts  mout,  so  to 
speak,  git  mixed  up  and  confused  together.  Did  you  ever  read 
Alonzo  and  Melissy,  Phil  ? " 

I  had  not. 

"  Thar  it  is,  you  see.     Ef  you  had  a  read  Alonzo  and  Melissy  you 


i88  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

would  not  a  ax  the  question  you  did.  (  In  that  novyul  they  holds  back 
the  best  for  the  last,  and  ef  you  knowed  what  it  was  all  goin  to  be 
you  wouldn't  read  the  balance  o'  the  book  ;  and  which  the  man,  he 
knowed  you  wouldn't,  and  that  made  him  hold  it  back.  And  which  I 
war  readin  that  same  book  one  day,  and  Angeline  Spouter  she  told 
me  that  nary  one  of  'em  wan't  goin  to  git  killed,  and  that  they  got 
married  at  the  last,  and  which  then  I  wouldn't  read  the  book  no  longer, 
and  which  I  war  gittin  sorter  tired  anyhow,  becase  I  got  very  little 
time  from  my  business  to  be  readin  novyuls  anyhow."*' 

I  was  very  sorry  that  I  had  asked  the  question. 

"  No,  Philmon,  give  every  part  a  far  chance  to  be  interestin.  I 
give  Jonas  Lively  a  far  chance ;  but  the  diffic-ulty  war  he  wouldn't 
give  me  one,  and  I  tuck  it.  I'm  goin  to  take  up  Mr.  Lively  all  over. 
He  ar  a  book,  Sir  —  a  far  book.     I'll  come  to  his  har  in  time." 

Mr.  Bill  readjusted  himself  between  the  roots  of  the  old  oak  so  as 
to  lie  in  comfort  in  a  position  where  he  could  look  me  fully  in  the  face. 

"You  see,  Squire,"  he  continued,  "  Cousin  Malviny  Hodge,  she  ar 
sort  o'  kin  to  me,  and  we  alwaj's  calls  one  another  cousin.  The 
families  has  always  been  friendly  and  claimed  kin,  but  I  don't  blieve 
they  ever  could  tell  whar  it  started,  but  it  war  on  Cousin  Malviny's 
side,  leastways  John  Simmonses,  her  first  husband,  who  his  father  he 
also  come  from  North  Calliner.  I  used  to  go  out  thar  sometimes  and 
stay  all  night ;  but  I  haint  done  sich  a  thing  sence  Mr.  Lively  have 
been  thar.  One  thing,  you  know,  becase  he  sleeps  in  the  office,  and 
the  onliest  other  place  for  a  man  to  sleep  at  thar  is  the  t'other  shed- 
room  on  the  t'other  side  o'  the  pe-azer  from  Susan  Temple's  room, 
and  which  about  three  year  ago  they  made  a  kind  of  a  sto'  outen 
that.  The  very  idee  of  callin  that  a  sto' !  It  makes  Mr.  Bland  laugh 
every  time  I  talk  about  Cousin  Malviny's  sto'.  I  jest  brings  up  the 
subject  sometimes  jest  to  see  Mr.  Bland  laugh  and  go  on.  Mr. 
Bland,  you  know,  Philip,  ar  the  leadin  head  pardner,  and  one  of  the 
funniest  men  you  ever  see.  Mr.  Jones  ar  a  monstous  clever  man,  but 
he  ar  not  a  funny  man  like  Mr.  Bland,  not  nigh." 

This  compliment  of  Mr.  Bill  to  his  employer  I  considered  proper 
enough,  although  I  could  have  wished  that  he  had  made  fewer  remarks 
which  appeared  to  me  to  be  so  far  outside  of  the  subject.  But  I  knew 
that  h2  lived  in  town,  and  I  think  I  had  a  sort  of  notion  that  such 
persons  had  superior  rights  as  well  as  superior  privileges  to  mere 
country  people.     Still  I  was  extremely  anxious  on  the  wig  question. 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  189 

Mr.  Bill  had  told  me  strange  things  about  wigs.  He  assured  me  that 
they  were  scalped  from  dead  men's  heads,  and  I  did  not  like  to  think 
about  them  at  night. 

"  But,"  continued  he,  "  as  I  was  a  sayin,  they  aint  been  no  conve- 
nant  place  for  a  man  to  sleep  thar  sence  they  had  the  sto',  as  they 
calls  it,  exceptin  a  feller  was  to  sleep  with  Mr.  Lively ;  and  I  should 
say  that  would  be  about  as  oncomfortable  and  ontimely  sleepin  as 
anybody  ever  want  anywhar  and  stayed  all  night.  And  which  I've  no 
idee  that  Mr.  Lively  hisself  would  think  it  war  reasonable  that  anybody 
mout  be  expected  to  sleep  with  him,  nor  him  to  sleep  with  any  other 
man  person.  When  a  old  bachelor,  Philmon,  git  in  the  habit  o' 
sleepin  by  hisself  for  about  fifty  year,  I  spose  he  sorter  git  out  o'  the 
way  of  sleepin  with  varus  people,  so  to  speak,  and  —  ah  —  he  ruther 
not  sleep  with  other  people,  and  which  —  ah  —  well,  the  fact  ar,  by 
that  time  he  aint  fitten  too  sleep  with  nobody.  I  tell  you,  Phlimmon 
Pearch,  befo'  I  would  sleep  with  Jonas  Lively,  specially  arfter  knowin 
him  like  I  does,  I  would  —  ah  —  I'd  set  up  all  night  and  nod  in  a 
cheer  —  dinged  ef  I  wouldn't!  " 

Mr.  Bill  could  not  have  looked  more  serious  and  resolute  if  he  had 
been  confidently  expecting  on  the  night  of  that  day  an  invitation  from 
Mr.  Lively  to  share  his  couch. 

"  Hadn't  been  for  that,"  he  went  on,  "  I  should  a  been  thar  sooner 
than  I  did.  But  arfter  he  seem  so  willin  and  anxious  for  me  to  go  to 
North  Calliner,  I  thinks  I  to  myself  I'll  go  out  to  Cousin  Malviny's, 
and  maybe  she'll  ax  me  to  stay  all  night,  and  then  she  can  fix  a  place 
for  me  jest  for  one  night :  I  sposen  she  would  make  a  pallet  down  on 
the  flo'  in  the  hall-room.  So  Friday  evenin  I  got  leaf  from  Mr.  Jones 
to  go  away  from  the  sto'  one  night.  He  sleep  thar  too,  you  know, 
and  they  warn't  no  danger  in  my  goin  away  for  jest  one  night.  So 
Friday  evenin  I  went  out,  I  did,  to  supper,  and  I  sorter  hinted  around 
that  if  they  was  to  invite  me  I  mout  stay  all  night,  ef  providin  that 
it  war  entirely  convenant ;  specially  as  I  wanted  a  little  country  ar 
arfter  bein  cooped  up  so  long  in  town  ■■ —  much  as  I  loved  town  I  had 
not  got  out  o'  all  consate  for  country  livin  and  country  ar,  and  so 
forth." 

Mr.  Bill  showed  plainly  that  he  knew  all  about  how  to  bamboozle 
Cousin  Malviny,  and  country  folks  generally. 

"  Cousin  Malviny  were  monstous  glad  to  see  me,  she  say  ;  and  I  tell 
you,  Squire,  Cousin  Malviny  are  right  jolly  lately.     She  look  better 


igo  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

and  younger'n  any  time  I  seen  her  sence  she  married  Hodge  ten  year 
ago.  Oh,  wimming,  wimming !  But  that's  neither  here  nor  thar  ; 
you  can't  alter  'em,  and  let  'em  go.  Cousin  Malviny  said  her  house 
war  small  but  it  war  stretchy.  I  laughed,  I  did,  and  said  I  would  let 
it  stretch  itself  one  time  for  my  accommidation.  Then  Cousin 
Malviny  she  laughed,  she  did,  and  looked  at  Mr.  Lively,  and  Mr. 
Lively  he  come  mighty  nigh  laughin  hisself  As  it  war,  he  look  like 
I  war  monstous  welcome  to  stay  ef  I  felt  like  it  As  for  Susan 
Temple,  she  look  serious.  But  that  gurl  always  do  look  serious 
somehow.  I  think  they  sorter  puts  on  that  poor  gurl.  She  do  all  the 
work  about  the  house,  and  always  look  to  me  like  she  thought  she 
have  no  friends, 

"Well,  be  it  so.  I  sta3's  ;  and  we  has  a  little  talk,  all  of  us  together 
arfter  supper;  that  is,  me  and  Cousin  Malviny  and  Mr.  Lively. 
Which  I  told  you  he  had  no  manners,  becase  he  don't  pull  off  that  hat 
even  at  the  table.  Oh  well,  he  moutn't.  But  never  mind  that  now  ; 
give  every  part  a  far  chance  to  be  interestin.  We  has  a  talk  together, 
and  which  Mr.  Lively  are  in  ginerly  a  better  man  to  talk  to  than  I 
thought,  leastways  at  his  own  home.  That  is,  it  ar  Cousin  Malviny's 
home  in  cose ;  but  I  tell  you,  Phlimmon  Pearch,  she  look  up  monstous 
to  the  old  man  these  days.  Oh,  wimming,  wimming !  But  sich  it  ar, 
and  you  can't  alter  it.  Mr.  Lively  and  me  talk  freely.  He  ax  me 
freely  any  question  he  mout  please.  Our  convisation  war  mostly  in 
his  axin  o'  me  questions,  and  me  a  answerin  'em.  He  seem  to  look 
like  he  thought  I  did  not  keer  about  axin  him  any  more:  which  h2 
did  see  me  once  lookin  mighty  keen  at  his  head  o'  har.  And  what 
do  you  sposen  he  done  then  ?  He  look  at  me  with  a  kind  of  a 
interestin  smile,  and  said  I  ought  by  all  means  to  go  some  time  and  see 
old  North  Calliner.  And  somehow.  Squire,  to  save  my  life  I  couldn't 
think  o'  nothin  to  answer  back  to  him.  I  knowed  he  had  caught  me, 
and  I  tried  to  quit  lookin  at  his  old  head.  The  fact  of  it  is,  ef  Mr. 
Lively  say  old  North  Calliner  to  me  many  more  times,  I  shall  git  out 
o'  all  consate  of  the  place  and  all  them  old  people  over  thar.  Cousin 
Malviny  she  sorter  smile.  She  look  up  to  the  old  man  more'n  she 
used  to.  But  you  can't  alter  'em,  and  t'aint  worth  while  to  try.  But  I, 
thinks  I  to  myself,  old  fellow,  when  I  come  here  I  owed  you  one  ; 
now  I  owe  you  two.     You  may  go  'long. 

"  Well,  arfter  a  while,  bed-time,  hit  come,  and  Mr.  Lively  he  went 
on  out  to  the  office ;  which,  lo  and  behold !  I  found  that  Susan  had 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  191 

made  down  a  pallet  in  Cousin  Malviny's  room,  and  I  war  to  take 
Susan's  room.  I  sorter  hated  that,  and  didn't  have  no  sich  expecta- 
tion that  the  poor  gurl  she  have  to  sleep  on  the  flo'  on  my  account ; 
and  I  told  Cousin  Malviny  so,  and  which  I  could  sleep  on  a  pallet 
myself  in  the  hall-room.  But  Cousin  Malviny  wouldn't  hear  to  it. 
Susan  didn't  say  yea  nor  nay.  They  puts  on  that  gurl,  shore's  you 
ar  born.  But  that  aint  none  o'  my  business,  and  so  I  goes  in  to  the 
little  shed-room.  And  arfter  all  I  war  right  glad  o'  that  arrangement, 
becase  it  give  me  a  better  chance  for  what  I  wanted  to  do,  and  was 
detumined  too  do  ef  I  could.  I  war  bent  on  findin  out,  ef  I  could  find 
out,  ef  that  head  o'  har  which  Mr.  Lively  had  on  his  head  war  his'n. 
That's  what  I  went  out  thar  for.  I  had  axed  him  a  civil  question  and 
he  had  give  me  a  oncivil  answer,  and  I  war  bent  on  it  now  more'n  ever, 
becase  I  couldn't  even  look  at  his  head  without  gittin  the  same  oncivil 
answer  and  bein  told  that  I  ought  to  go  and  see  North  Calliner  and  all 
them  old  people  thar,  which  I'm  beginnin  not  to  keer  whether  I  ever 
sees  'em  or  not,  and  wish  daddy  he  never  come  from  thar.  But  I 
runned  him  to  his  holler." 

Mr.  Bill  then  rose  from  the  ground.     What  he  had  to  say  now- 
seemed  to  require  to  be  told  in  a  standing  attitude. 


CHAPTER   III. 

"And  now,  Philip,  I'm  comin  to  the  interestin  part;  I'm  a  gainin  on 
it  fast.  That  man  ar  a  book  —  a  far  book.  If  I  war  goin  to  write  a 
book  I  should  write  a  book  on  Jonas  Lively  and  the  awful  skenes, 
so  to  speak,  o'  that  blessed  and  ontimely  night.  But  in  cose  you 
know,  Philipmon,  I  don't  expect  to  write  no  book,  becase  I  haint  the 
edyecation  nor  the  time.  But  now,  lo  and  behold  !  it  war  a  foggy 
evenin,  and  specially  at  Cousin  Malviny's,  whar  you  knows  they  lives 
close  onto  Rocky  Creek.  Well,  no  sooner  I  got  to  my  room  than  I 
slyly  slips  out  onto  the  pe-azer,  and  out  into  the  yard,  and  walks  quiet 
and  easy  as  I  kin  to  the  backside  o'  the  office,  whar  thar  war  a 
winder.  I  war  detumined  to  get  thar  befo'  the  old  feller  blowed  out 
his  candle  and  got  to  bed.  I  had  seed  befo'  night  that  a  little  piece 
war  broke  out  o'  the  winder.  I  didn't  like  ezactly  to  be  a  peepin' 
in  on  the  old  man,  and  I  should  a  felt  sorter  bad  ef  he  had  a  caught 


192  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

me.  But  5'ou  see,  Squire,  he  didn't  leave  me  no  chance.  I  had  ax 
him  a  civil  question  ;  it  war  his  fault  and  not  mine.  j\Iy  skeerts  is 
cler." 

It  was  jDleasant  to  see  my  friend  thus  able  to  rid  himself  of  respon- 
sibilit}^  in  a  matter  in  which  it  was  rather  plain  that  blame  must  attach 
somewhere. 

"  So  I  crope  up  thar,  I  did,  and  found  that  he  had  let  down  the 
curtin.  But  I  tuck  a  pin  and  draw  the  curtin  up  to  the  hole  in  the 
glass,  and  then  tuck  my  pen-knife  and  slit  a  little  hole  in  the  curtin,  so 
I  could  go  one  eye  on  him.  I  couldn't  go  but  one  eye  ;  but  I  see  a 
plenty  with  that  —  a  plenty  for  one  time.  In  the  first  place,  Phlim, 
thar  aint  a  man  in  the  whole  town  of  Dukesborough  exceptin  me  that 
know  Mr.  Lively  ar  a  smoker.  I  don't  blieve  that  Cousin  Malviny 
know  it.  As  soon  as  I  got  my  eye  in  the  room  I  see  him  onlock  his 
trunk,  which  it  war  by  the  head  o'  his  bed,  and  take  out  a  little  tin- 
box,  which  it  have  the  littlest  pad-lock  that  ever  I  see :  and  then  he 
onlock  it  with  a  key  accordin,  and  he  tuck  out  the  onliest  lookin 
pipe  !  I  do  blieve  it  war  made  out  o'  crocker)-.  It  war  long,  and 
shape  like  a  pitcher ;  and  it  had  a  kiver,  and  the  kiver  it  war  yaller 
and  have  little  holes,  it  'pear  like,  like  a  pepper-box  ;  and  which  it 
have  also  a  crooked  stem  made  out  o'  somethin  black ;  and  ef  it 
warn't  chained  to  his  pipe  by  a  little  chain  I'm  the  biggest  liar  in  and 
about  Dukesborough !  Well,  Sir,  he  take  out  this  pipe,  and  then  he 
take  outen  the  trunk  another  little  box,  and  which  it  have  tobarker  in 
it,  all  cut  up  and  ready  for  smokin.  Well,  Sir,  he  fill  up  that  pipe,  and 
which  I  think  it  hilt  nigh  and  in  and  about  my  hand-full  of  tobarker  ; 
and  then  of  all  the  smokes  which  I  ever  see  a  mortal  man  smoke,  or 
mortal  woming  either,  that  war  the  most  tremenjus  and  ontimeliest  \ 
It  ar  perfecly  certin  that  that  man  never  smoke  but  that  one  time  in 
the  twent}^-four  hours.  I  tell  you  he  war  Jiongry  for  his  smoke  ;  and 
when  he  smoke,  he  smoke.  And  the  way  he  do  blow !  I  could  farly 
hear  him  whistle  as  he  shoot  out  the  smoke.  He  don't  seem  to  take 
no  consolation  in  his  smokin,  as  fur  as  I  could  see ;  becase  sich  ever- 
lastin  blowin  made  him  look  like  he  war  monstous  tired  at  the  last. 
Sich  vilence  can't  last,  and  he  got  through  mighty  soon.  But  he  have 
to  git  through  quick  for  another  reason  ;  and  which  I  ar  now  goin  to 
tell  you  what  that  other  reason  ar  —  that  is  providin.  Squire,  you  keers 
about  hearin  it." 

Notwithstanding   some   capital   doubts   upon    the   legality   of  the 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  193 

means  by  which  Mr.  Bill  had  obtained  his  information,  yet  I  was 
sufficiently  interested  to  hear  further,  and  I  so  intimated. 

"Yes,  I  thought,"  Mr.  Bill  continued  with  a  smile,  "that  may  be 
you  mout  wish  to  hear  some  more  about  his  carrins  on.  That  man 
ar  a  book,  Philyermon  Pearch — a  far  book.  Well  then,  to  perceed 
on  with  the  perceedences  of  that  awful  and  ontimely  night,  Mr.  Lively 
he  have  no  candle  more'n  a  inch  long.  Outen  that  same  trunk  he  tuck 
out  another  box.  I  never  see  sich  a  man  for  boxes ;  he  have  more 
boxes  than  clothes,  certin.  I  see  two  or  three  more  boxes  in  that 
trunk.  What  war  in  'em  Mr.  Lively  know  —  I  don't ;  but  in  that  other 
box  what  I'm  a  speakin  about  now  I  see  at  least  fifteen  little  pieces  o' 
candle  about  a  inch  long.  Mr.  Lively  have  tuck  out  one  o'  them 
candles  and  lit  it  for  to  see  better  how  to  go  to  bed  by.  He  have 
a  fire ;  but  he  want  more  light,  it  appear  like.  That  candle  it  can't 
last  so  mighty  powerful  long  ;  but  it  have  got  to  last  jest  so  long 
for  him.  I  never  see  jest  sich  a  man  befo'.  Interestin  as  he  war  a 
smokin,  it  war  nothin  to  his  goin  to  bed.  Arfter  he  put  up  his  pipe, 
and  fix  his  boxes  back  and  lock  up  his  trunk,  he  begin  to  fix  hisself 
for  goin  to  bed.  And  which  it,  in  cose,  ar  a  single  bed,  as  by  good 
rights,  accordin  to  all  human,  reasonable  understandin,  it  ought  to  be." 

Mr.  Bill  regarded  me  in  silence  for  a  moment  with  an  expression 
which  I  understood  to  be  perfectly  serious. 

"  I  should  say,  Philerimon  Pearch,  that  bed  of  Jonas  Lively  by 
good  rights  it  ought  to  be  a  single  bed.  Ef  Mr.  Lively  was  to  ever 
have  to  sleep  with  anybody,  and  —  well  —  I  don't  know.  It's  a  on- 
timely  world,  and  they  aint  no  tellin  what  people  will  do ;  and  you 
can't  alter  'em,  and  it  aint  worth  while  to  try.  But  that's  neither  here 
nor  thar.  At  the  present  Mr.  Lively  certinly  do  occupy  a  single  bed, 
and  which  I  say  by  good  rights  he  ought  to." 

These  parenthetical  remarks  sounded  very  mysteriously  to  my  ear, 
and  seemed  to  convey,  I  suspected,  an  admonition  to  some  person  in 
particular,  or  perhaps  to  the  world  in  general. 

"  It  war  a  monstous  plain  bedstead,  and  which  I  have  heerd  Cousin 
Malviny  say,  when  she  used  to  laugh  at  him,  and  didn't  seem  to  look 
up  to  him  like  she  do  here  lately,  which  she  used  to  say  he  made  it 
hisself  It  have  a  shuck  mattress,  with  one  blanket  and  one  quilt ; 
but  nary  piller,  nor  nary  sheet.  That  ar  a  bed  which  it  ar  monstous 
easy  to  make  it  up,  and  which  Mr.  Lively,  he  say.  Cousin  Malviny 
used  to  say,  he  didn't  wish  nobody  to  pester  it  and  rather  make  up 
25 


194  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

his  own  bed  hisself.  So  now  I^Ir.  Lively  he  perceed  to  git  read}-  to 
go  to  bed,  ef  a  body  mout  call  sich  a  thing  a  bed.  The  first  thing  he 
do,  it  ar  to  pull  his  little  table  up  agin  to  the  foot  of  his  bed.  Then 
he  pull  off  his  boots.  That  ar  perfecly  natral,  of  cose  :  yit  I  sposen 
he  war  goin  to  pull  off  his  hat  first ;  which  it  war  the  onliest  thing  I 
mostly  wanted  to  see,  and  was  a  waitin  too  see.  But  no  hat  off  yit. 
And  what  do  you  think  he  do  with  them  boots  ? " 

I  ventured  to  guess  that  he  put  them  under  the  bed  or  against 
the  wall. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  nary  one.  No,  Sir.  Make  a  piller  of  'em.  Yes, 
Sir,  he  twist  'em  up  and  wrap  'em  up  in  a  old  newspaper,  and  put 
'em  under  his  mattress  for  a  piller.  Some  people  mout  be  called 
extravigant ;  but  it  wouldn't  be  Jonas  Lively.  Then  what  you  sposen 
that  man  pull  off  next.-"' 

"  His  coat.     No,  his  hat !  " 

"Never!"  answered  Mr.  Bill  emphatically,  "nary  one.  It  war  his 
brkhes !  And  now  about  them  briches.  •  I  always  thought,  Cousin 
Malviny  thought,  everybody  in  Dukesborough,  includin  the  sur- 
roundin  country  and  the  whole  neighborhood,  we  all  thought  that  Mr. 
Lively  have  two  par  of  briches,  one  black  and  one  gray.  Well, 
Philipmon  Pearch,  I  ar  now  prepard  to  say,  ef  I  mout  so  speak,  that 
jNIr.  Lively  have  not  got  but  one  par  of  briches :  leastways  exceptin 
you  mout  call  it  two  par  when  one  par  is  linded  with  t'other  par,  and 
t'other  par  is  linded  with  them  par.  For  that's  jest  the  fact  o'  the 
case :  they  ar  linded  with  one  another.  He  have  'em  made  so. 
People  that  lives  in  town,  my  honest  friend,  they  sees  a  heap  o'  things. 
That  man  ar  a  book  —  a  far  book.  ■■  And  now  thar  stand  Mr.  Lively  in 
his  prisent  and  ontimely  sitovation  ;  and  he  do  look  lively,  I  tell  you." 

Mr.  Bill  chuckled,  and  winked  and  rubbed  his  hands  at  this  remark, 
and  evidently  felt  that  none  other  than  an  inhabitant  of  Dukesbor- 
ough, or  some  other  equally  extensive  and  densely  populated  place, 
could  have  perpetrated  so  brilliant  a  pun.  It  was  the  first  I  had 
ever  heard,  and  I  could  but  remark  how  much  INIr.  Bill  had  improved. 

"And  now  I'm  goin  to  tell  you  another  thing.  I  tell  you,  Philip,  I 
aint  near  done  with  Jonas  Livel3^  He  ar  a  book  —  a  far  book.  You 
mout  think  now,  and  specially  in  cold  weather,  that  ]\Ir.  Lively  mout 
war  draws.  It  look  reasonable.  But  no  draw  !  But  I  tell  you  what 
he  do  war.  He  war  the  longest  shirt  that  I  ever  see  to  a  man  person 
of  his  highth.     It  come  plum  down  below  the  bone  of  his  knees.     I 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  195 

could  but  notice,  after  Mr.  Lively  pulled  off  his  briches,  how  small 
was  his  legs,  speakin  comparative.  Yit  don't  you  blieve  I  ezactly 
sees  Mr.  Lively's  legs.     And  becase  why  ?     Does  you  give  it  up  ?  " 

Of  course  I  did. 

Mr.  Bill  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  partly  humorous  and 
partly  compassionate,  and  then  ejaculated  : 

"  Stockens  ! !  Yes,  Sir,  stockens !  The  onliest  tiem  I  ever 
knowed  a  man  person  to  war  stockens,  exceptin  in  a  show,  where 
them  that  wars  'em  wars  'em  for  you  to  laugh  at  him  fur  warin  'era. 
And  them  stockens  comes  up  ezactly  perpendicler  to  the  very  pint 
whar  his  long  shirt  retches  down  to,  and  they  fits  him  tight.  As  for 
]\Ir.  Lively's  legs,  I  wouldn't  wish  to  do  injestice  to  no  man's  legs,  but 
they're  the  littlest  and  spindlest  legs  that  ever  I  see  to  car  what  they 
have  to  car.  Them  legs  mout  a  had  calves  to  'em,  but  I  never  see 
"em.     I  don't  say  he  never  had  calves  ;  I  merily  say  I  never  see  'em. 

"  When  Mr.  Lively  take  off  his  briches  he  turned  'em  wrong  side 
outerds  and  thar  is  another  par,  and  then  he  lay  'em  keerful  on  the 
table  with  the  top  part  todes  the  bed ;  and  then  arfter  he  take  out  of 
his  pocket  his  big  red  pocket-hankercher,  he  take  his  coat  off  and  lay 
it  keerful  on  top  o'  his  briches,  collar  fomost.  And  now  he  ar  ready 
to  take  off  his  hat,  and  I  perceed  to  the  interestin  part  o'  the 
subjick." 

Mr.  Bill  rubbed  his  hands  afresh  and  his  dull  eyes  almost  w^atered 
while  he  was  describing  this  operation. 

"  When  he  ar  ready  to  take  off  his  hat  he  sit  down  on  the  bed, 
poke  his  hands  under  his  har  like  he  war  goin  to  scratch,  and  it  appear 
like  he  war  onfastenin  somethin  on  top  o'  his  ears ;  and  then  he  bob 
down  his  head,  give  a  sudding  jerk,  and  lo  and  behold !  here  come 
Mr.  Lively's  hat  carrin  with  it  every  har  upon  the  top  o'  Mr.  Lively's 
head !  Oh,  Philip,  I  war  satisfied.  I  always  spicioned  he  war  a  wig, 
and  now  I  knowed  it,  becase  thar  I  seed  his  har  in  his  hat,  and  his 
round,  slick,  ontimely  old  head  a  shinin  befo'  me.  And  oh,  ef  it 
don't  shine,  and  ef  it  don't  do  him  good  to  rub  it ! " 

And  Mr.  Bill  laughed,  and  shed  tears  and  laughed,  making  the 
grove  ring.     He  wiped  his  eyes  and  resumed. 

"But,  jest  like  his  smokin,  he  ar  mighty  soon  through  that  opera- 
tion also.  And  then  he  tie  his  head  in  that  pocket-hankercher,  and 
slip  his  hat  and  its  con-tents  under  the  bed.  So  thar  stand  Mr. 
Lively  ready  for  bed ;  and  ef  you  didn't  know  it  war  him,  but  some 


196  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

body  was  to  tell  you  it  war  a  person  of  the  name  of  Lively,  you 
couldn't  say,  ef  it  was  to  save  your  life,  whether  it  war  Mr.  Lively,  or 
Miss  Lively,  or  the  old  lady  Lively.  If  it  warn't  for  his  westcoat  you 
would  say  it  war  a  woman  person,  becase  thar's  his  long  shirt,  which 
it  looks  like  a  gowen ;  and  notwithstandin  his  legs  is  oncommon 
small,  thar's  his  stockens.  And  ef  it  v;arn't  for  his  long  shirt  and  his 
stockens  you  would  say  it  war  a  man  person,  becase  thar's  his  west- 
coat.  As  it  ar,  your  mind  ar  in  a  confusion  and  a  state  o'  hesitatin 
doubt  which  ar  highly  amusin.  I  don't  speak  o'  myself,  becase  I 
knowed  him,  and  seed  him  as  he  shucked  hisself,  and  I  follered  him 
thoo  and  thoo  the  varous  —  ah  —  tranmogifications  —  so  to  speak  —  o' 
that  blessed  and  ontimely  evenin." 

"  But  didn't  be  take  off  his  waistcoat  ?  "  I  inquired. 

*'  Yes,  indeed  :  but  whot  for  ?  Jest  to  turn  her  over  and  put  her  on 
agin,  which  dinged  ef  she  aint  jest  like  his  briches  in  bein  linded  with 
itself.  I  tell  you,  Phlinimon,  a  little  more  and  that  man  would  a 
been  linded  with  hisself" 

Mr.  Bill  again  laughed  and  shed  tears. 

"  But  what  makes  him  sleep  in  it  ?  " 

"  Thar  now !  becase  westcoats  is  cheaper'n  blankets.  Leastways 
westcoats  by  theirselves  is  cheaper  than  westcoats  and  blankets  put 
together." 

Mr.  Bill  announced  this  with  as  much  emphasis  and  gravity  as  if  it 
had  been  a  newly  discovered  principle  of  political  economy. 

"  And  now  Mr.  Lively  ar  ready  for  bed,  as  I  war  a  sayin  ;  and  he 
know  he  got  to  go  quick,  becase  his  little  piece  o'  candle  are  most 
gone.  So  he  take  up  his  walkin-stick,  and  liftin  up  the  kiver  creep  in 
slow  and  gradyul." 

"  His  walking-stick  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  answered  Mr.  Bill  with  immense  firmness,  "  his  walkin- 
stick,  and  which  he  have  a  use  for  it.  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  war  a 
book  ?  With  that  stick  he  smoove  down  his  shirt  in  the  first  place, 
and  then  he  tuck  that  blanket  and  that  quilt  under  hisself  good, 
turnin  hisself  about,  and  he  poke  here  and  pull  thar  on  top  o'  hisself, 
under  hisself,  on  both  sides  o'  hisself,  till  he  look  snug  and  tight  as  a 
sassenge.  When  he  ar  done  with  that  business,  lo  and  behold  !  he 
retch  down  that  stick  and  hook  it  on  to  his  coat  under  the  collar, 
which  thar  it  ar  a  waitin  for  him,  and  he  pull  it  up  slow  and  gradyul, 
lettin  the  tails  hang  jest  immegeantly  over  his  toes.     You  say  prehaps, 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  197 

leastways  you  mout  say,  that  his  arms  and  hands  is  yit  unkivered. 
And  sich  it  ar.  But  I  now  ax  the  question  whar's  his  briches  ?  Don't 
you  forgit,  ray  honest  friend,  whar  I  told  you  he  put  them  briches, 
which  I  mout  call  'em  the  double  briches  —  don't  you  forgit  whar  I  told 
you  he  put  'em  when  he  pulled  'em  off  o'  them  interestin  and  ontimely 
legs  o'  his'n.  With  that  same  hooked  stick  he  retch  down,  he  lift  up 
them  briches,  he  fetch  them  briches  up,  he  turn  and  wrap  them  briches 
in  more  ways  than  you  could  tie  a  rope,  all  about  his  arms  and  his 
neck  and  his  jaws.  And  then  finnally  he  ar  the  snuggest  man  person, 
take  him  up  and  down,  by  and  large,  over  and  under  —  he  ar  the  snug- 
gest person,  man  person  I  say,  that  ever  I  went  anywar  and  see,  be 
it  —  I  takes  the  responsibility  to  say  it  —  be  it  wheresomever  or 
whomsoever  or  whatsomever  it  mout.  Mr.  Lively  are  a  good  calker- 
later.  It  warn't  more'n  fifteen  seconds  arfter  he  had  fixed  hisself  when 
his  little  piece  o'  candle  gin  out  and  he  war  a  snorin,  and  I  tell  you 
he  knocked  it  off  perpendickler.  By  this  time  I  war  tolerble  cool,  <f 
and  I  crope  back  to  the  house  and  went  to  bed.  And  I  thinks  I  to 
myself,  Mr.  Livel}',  you  are  one  of  e'm.  You  ar  a  book,  Mr.  Lively  — 
a  far  book.  We  ar  even  now,  Mr.  Lively  ;  and  which  I  laid  thar  a  long 
time  a  meditatin  on  this  interestin  and  ontimely  case.  I  ax  myself,  ar 
this  the  lot  o'  them  which  has  no  wife  and  gits  old  in  them  conditions, 
and  has  no  har  on  the  top  o'  thar  head  ?  Is  it  sich  in  all  the  circum- 
sances  of  sich  a  awful  and  ontimely  sitovation?  Ef  so,  fair  be  it 
from  William  Williams  !  " 

]\Ir.  Bill  delivered  this  reflection  with  becoming  seriousness.  Indeed 
he  looked  a  little  sad,  but  whether  in  contemplation  of  possible 
bachelorhood  or  possible  baldness  I  could  not  say. 

"  The  next  mornin  we  was  all  up  good  and  soon.  When  we  went 
to  breakfast  I  felt  sorter  mean  when  I  look  at  the  old  man,  and  a 
little  sort  o'  skeerd  to  boot.  But  he  look  like  he  have  got  a  good 
night's  rest,  and  I  have  owed  him  somethin,  becase  I  have  ax  him  a 
civil  question  ;  and  so  I  thinks  I,  Mr.  Livel}^,  you  and  me's  about 
even  —  only  I  mout  have  a  leetle  the  advantage.  When  I  told  'em  all 
good-bye,  I  told  the  old  man  that  I'm  a  thinkin  I'll  go  to  old  North 
Calliner  some  o'  these  days  and  see  them  old  people ;  and  which  I 
tell  you  he  look  at  me  mighty  hard.  But  what  struck  me  war  to  see 
how  Cousin  Malviny  look  up  to  him.  But  wimming's  wimming, 
Philiminon.     You  can't  alter  'em,  and  it  aint  worth  while  to  try." 


198  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Mrs.  Melvina  Hodge  being  destined  for  a  more  distinguished 
part  in  the  Lively  Investigations  than  might  have  been  supposed 
at  first,  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  mention  a  few  of  her  antecedents. 
She  resided  near  Rocky  Creek,  about  a  mile  from  Dukesborough. 
Some  years  before  the  occurrence  I  am  now  narrating  she  was 
Miss  Melvina  Perkins,  or  rather  Miss  Malviny  Perkins,  as  she  pre- 
ferred to  be  called.  Judging  from  what  she  was  now,  she  must 
have  been  good-looking  in  those  early  years.  She  had  been  married 
first  to  a  Mr.  Simmons,  who,  as  we  have  heard  Mr.  Bill  Williams 
say,  was  related  to  his  family.  Some  five  or  six  summers  had  passed 
since  this  first  marriage  when  Mr.  Simmons  died.  However  ardently 
this  gentleman  may  have  been  beloved  in  his  life-time,  the  grief  which 
his  departure  produced  did  not  seem  to  be  incurable.  It  j'ielded  to 
Time  the  comforter,  and  in  about  another  year  her  name  was  again 
changed,  and  she  became  Mrs.  Malviny  Plodge. 

Persons  familiar  with  her  history  used  to  remark  upon  the  different 
appearances  which  this  lady  exhibited  according  as  she  was  or  was 
not  in  the  married  estate.  As  Miss  Perkins  and  as  the  widow 
Simmons,  she  was  neat  in  her  person  and  cheerful  in  her  spirits  to  a 
degree  that  might  be  called  quite  gay  ;  whereas  in  the  marriage  relation 
she  was  often  spoken  of  as  negligent  both  in  her  dress  and  her  house- 
keeping, and  was  generally  regarded  as  being  hard  to  please,  espe- 
cially by  him  whose  business  it  was  and  whose  pleasure  it  ought  to 
have  been  to  please  her  the  most.  Mr.  Daniel  Hodge  had  frequently 
noticed  her  with  her  first  husband,  and  apparently  had  not  seen  very 
much  to  admire.  The  truth  was  he  had  rather  pitied  poor  Simmons, 
or  thought  he  had.  But  when  about  three  or  four  months  after  the 
latter's  death  he  happened  to  meet  his  widow,  Mr.  Hodge  saw  such 
remarkable  changes  that  he  concluded  he  must  have  grossly  misjudged 
her.  A  more  extended  acquaintance,  in  which  she  grew  more  and 
more  affable  and  sprightly  and  generally  taking  in  her  ways,  tended 
to  raise  a  suspicion  in  his  mind  that  so  far  as  his  previous  judgment 
of  her  was  concerned  it  was  about  as  good  as  if  during  all  that  time 
he  had  been  a  fool.  Mrs.  Malviny  Simmons  had  a  way  of  arranging 
a  white  cape  around  her  neck  and  shoulders,  which  with  her  black 
frock  had  a  fine  effect  upon  Mr.  Hodge.     This  is  a  great  art.     I  have 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  199 

noticed  it  all  my  life ;  and  old  man  as  I  am,  even  now  I  sometimes 
feel  that  I  am  not  insensible  to  the  charm  of  such  a  contrast  in 
dressing  among  women,  who  having  been  in  great  affliction  for  losses, 
have  grown  to  indulge  some  desire  to  repair  them  in  ways  that  are 
innocent. 

This  new  appreciation  of  Mrs.  Simmons  increased  with  a  rapidity 
that  actually  astonished  Mr.  Hodge  ;  the  more  because  he  had  fre- 
quently said  that  if  he  ever  should  marry  it  certainly  would  not  be  to 
a  widow.  But  we  all  know  what  such  talk  as  that  amounts  to.  In 
the  case  of  Mr.  Hodge  it  was  not  long  before  he  began  to  consider 
with  himself  \vhether  the  best  thing  he  could  do  for  himself  might  not 
be  to  hint  his  admiration  of  that  white  cape  and  black  frock  in  such 
a  way  as  might  lead  to  other  conversation  after  a  while  ;  for  he  had  a 
house  of  his  own,  a  hundred  acres  of  land,  and  three  or  four  negroes  ; 
and  he  was  about  thirty  years  old.  I  say  he  began  to  consider ;  he 
had  not  fully  made  up  his  mind.  True,  he  needed  a  housekeeper. 
But  he  remembered  that  the  housekeeping  at  Simmons's  in  his  life-time 
was  not  as  it  ought  to  have  been.  His  memory  on  this  point,  how- 
ever, became  less  and  less  distinct ;  and  when  he  thought  upon  it  at 
all  he  was  getting  into  the  habit  of  late  of  laying  all  the  blame  upon 
Simmons.  To  be  sure,  poor  Simmons  was  in  his  grave,  and  it 
wouldn't  look  right  to  talk  much  about  his  defects,  either  of  character 
or  general  domestic  management.  Mr.  Hodge  was  a  prudent  man 
about  such  matters  generally,  and  always  wished  to  do  as  he  would 
be  done  by.  But  he  could  but  reflect  that  Simmons,  though  a  good 
enough  fellow  in  his  way,  was  not  only  rather  a  poor  manager,  but 
not  the  sort  of  a  man  to  inspire  a  woman,  especially  such  a  one  as 
Mrs.  Malviny  Simmons  now  evidently  appeared  to  be,  to  exert  her 
full  powers  whether  in  housekeeping  or  anything  else.  In  thinking 
upon  the  case  Mr.  Hodge  believed  that  justice  should  be  done  to  the 
living  as  well  as  the  dead,  and  that  in  the  married  life  much  depended 
upon  the  man.  This  view  of  the  case  gradually  grew  to  be  very 
satisfactory,  and  even  right  sweet  to  take.  Not  that  he  would  think 
of  doing  injustice  to  Simmons,  even  in  his  grave  ;  but  facts  were 
facts,  and  justice  was  justice ;  and  it  was  now  certainly  too  late  to 
think  about  altering  the  former  in  the  case  of  Simmons.  So  poor 
Simmons  had  to  lie  v/here  he  was,  and  be  held  to  responsibilities  that 
probably  he  had  not  anticipated. 

So  Mr.  Hodge  began  to  consider.     He  knew  there  was  no  harm  in 


200  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

merely  speculating  upon  such  things.  He  knew  himself  to  be  pru- 
dent, and  generally  accurate  in  his  judgments.  But  it  was  his  boast, 
and  always  had  been,  that  whenever  he  was  convinced  that  he  was 
wrong  he  would  give  it  up  like  a  man.  This  had  actually  occurred  ; 
not  very  often,  it  is  true,  but  sometimes  ;  and  he  had  given  it  up  in 
such  a  way  as  to  confirm  him  more  and  more  in  the  assurance  that 
he  was  a  person  who,  though  little  liable  to  delusion,  was  remarkably 
free  from  prejudice  and  obstinacy.  Probably  the  most  notable 
instance  of  such  freedom  that  his  life  had  hitherto  afforded  was  the 
readiness  with  which  he  gave  up  the  erroneous  opinions  he  had 
previously  formed  of  Mrs.  Malviny  Simmons,  and  put  the  blame  of 
what  seemed  her  shortcomings  where  it  belono:ed. 

Mr.  Hodge  was  thus  considering  the  possibility  of  what  he  might 
propose  to  do  some  of  these  days,  say  a  year  hence,  when  Mrs.  Sim- 
mons might  reasonably  be  expected,  young  as  she  was,  to  be  taking 
other  views  of  life  besides  those  which  contemplated  merely  the  past. 
Mr.  Hodge  knew  that  there  was  plenty  of  time  for  the  exercise  of  the 
most  matured  deliberation.  But  somehov;  it  happened  that  he  began 
to  meet  the  lady  much  more  frequently  than  heretofore.  Mr.  Sim- 
mons having  left  his  wife  in  very  limited  circumstances,  she  resided 
alternately  with  one  and  another  of  her  own  and  his  relations.  These 
people,  though  kind,  yet  seemed  all  to  be  more  than  willing  that  Mr. 
Hodge  should  have  the  benefit  of  any  amount  of  her  society.  The 
consequence  was  that  Mr.  Hodge,  having  such  opportunities,  was 
enabled  the  sooner  to  bring  all  his  thoughts  to  a  head  ;  not  that  he 
contemplated  immediate  action,  but  was  becoming  more  and  more 
fond  of  musing  upon  future  possibilities.  But  one  day  he  had  looked 
upon  the  white  cape  and  the  black  frock  until  he  was  led  to  express 
himself  in  terms  that  implied  admiration.  It  was  intended  merely  as 
a  hint  of  what  might  come  some  of  these  days.  One  word  brought 
on  another.  It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  how  Mrs.  Malviny 
Simmons  looked  and  how  she  talked.  Mr.  Hodge  was  not  a  man  of 
many  words,  and  it  gratified  him  when  she  assisted  and  accelerated 
his  thoughts,  and  even  almost  put  into  his  mouth  the  very  words 
which,  though  not  intending  such  a  thing  just  then,  he  had  been  con- 
sidering that  he  might  employ  some  of  these  days.  Things  went  on 
with  such  rapidity  that  before  Mr.  Hodge  knew  what  he  was  about  he 
had  the  cape  in  his  arms,  and  was  assured  that  it  and  the  person  it 
belonged  to  were  his  now  and  forever,  "  yea,  if  it  might  be  for  a 
thousand  year." 


CONCERNmC  .)fR.  JOXAS  LIVELY.  201 

Surely,  thought  Mr.  Hodge,  no  man  since  the  days  of  Adam  in  the 
garden  had  ever  made  so  tremendous  an  impression  upon  a  woman. 
He  did  not  know  that  it  was  in  him  to  make  such  an  impression. 
However,  we  don't  know  ourselves,  h€  reflected  ;  and  there  is  a  differ- 
ence in  men  just  as  in  everything  else. 

One  week  from  that  day  Mr.  Hodge  succeeded  to  INIr.  Simmons, 
and  Mrs.  Malviny  went  to  keep  house  for  Mr.  Hodge  on  Rocky  Creek. 
There  was  little  in  the  married  life  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hodge  that 
would  be  very  interesting  to  relate.  I  before  intimated  that  Mrs. 
Malviny  was  most  interesting  in  those  seasons  when  she  was 
unmarried.  The  beginning  Was  splendid,  but  the  splendor  was 
evanescent.  Mr.  Hodge  was  surprised  to  notice  how  soon  his  wife 
relapsed  into  the  old  ways  and  the  old  looks.  He  never  should  have 
expected  to  see  that  woman  down  at  the  heels.  But  the  laying  aside 
the  black  frock  and  putting  on  colors  seemed  to  have  had  a  depress- 
ing influence  upon  her  tastes.  As  for  the  housekeeping,  Mr.  Hodge 
had  to  admit  to  himself  that  plain  as  things  were  when  old  Aunt 
Dilcy,  his  negro  woman,  attended  to  them,  they  were  not  as 
well  ordered  now.  Then  Mr.  Hodge  found  that,  in  spite  of  his 
conscious  superiority  to  her  former  husband,  he  had  apparently  no 
greater  success  in  his  efforts  to  please.  At  this  Mr.  Hodge  gradually 
began  to  feel  somewhat  disgusted.  He  never  had  thought  much 
about  Simmons  in  his  life-time  ;  now  his  mind  would  frequently  revert 
to  him,  and  he  began  to  suspect  that  Simmons  was  a  cleverer  man 
than  he  had  credit  for.  It  seemed  strange  and  somewhat  pitiful 
generally  that  he  should  have  died  so  young. 

But  Mr.  Hodge  knew  as  well  as  anybody  that  matters  could 
not  be  altered  now,  and  he  determined  to  do  the  best  he  could. 
He  worked  away  at  his  farm,  and  in  spite  of  diflScuities  made  and 
laid  up  a  little  something  every  year.  No  children  were  born  of  the 
marriage  ;  but  he  did  not  complain.  They  had  been  married  several 
years  when  the  parents  of  Susan  Temple  having  died  and  left  her  with 
nothing,  the  relatives  generally  thought  that  as  Mr.  Hodge,  who  was 
as  near  akin  to  her  as  any,  and  who  had  no  children  of  his  own, 
ought  to  give  her  a  home.  Susan  was  just  grown  up,  and  though 
plain  was  a  very  industrious  girl.  Mr.  Hodge  suggested  to  his  wife 
that  as  the  business  of  housekeeping  seemed  rather  troublesome  they 
might  take  Susan  for  that  business,  giving  her  board  and  clothes  as 
compensation.  At  first  Mrs.  Hodge  came  out  violently  against  it. 
26 


202  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Such,  however,  had  long  been  her  habit  of  treating  all  new  propositions 
of  her  husband.  He  was,  therefore,  not  surprised  ;  and  indeed  was 
not  seriously  disappointed,  as  he  was  acting  mostly  for  the  purpose 
of  satisfying  his  conscience  regarding  his  orphaned  relative.  He 
said  nothing  more  upon  the  subject  then  ;  indeed,  he  had  been  ever 
a  man  of  but  few  words,  and  since  his  marriage  he  had  grown  more 
so.  Mr.  Hodge  had  seemed  to  find  from  experience  that  the  more 
talking  he  did  the  less  influence  he  had.  Words,  he  found,  were  not 
the  things  to  employ  when  he  wanted  her  to  do  even  necessary  offices. 
After  all  his  previous  disclaimers  to  that  end,  Mr.  Hodge  was  suspected 
by  more  persons  than  one  of  having  some  obstinacy  ;  and  it  grew  with 
the  lapse  of  time.  He  kept  his  potket-book  in  his  pocket,  and  his 
own  fingers  opened  and  shut  it.  Mrs.  Hodge  maintained  to  his  face 
that  he  was  hard-headed  as  a  mule  and  too  stingy  to  live.  He 
appeared  to  her  most  obstinate  when  she  would  labor  in  vain  to  lead 
him  into  discussions  upon  the  justice  of  her  causes  of  complaint 
against  him  generally.  One  day  she  did  a  thing  which  Mr.  Hodge 
had  been  once  as  far  from  foreseeing  as  any  man  who  ever  married 
another's  widow.  Mr.  Simmons,  with  all  his  imperfections,  was  a 
man  who  would  sometimes  allow  to  his  wife  the  satisfaction  of  leading 
him  into  a  little  domestic  quarrel,  and  to  make  it  interesting  would 
try  to  give  back  as  good  as  he  got,  so  to  speak.  I  am  well  aware 
that  such  an  expression  is  not  warranted  by  good  usage  ;  but  I  cannot 
stop  now  to  look  for  a  better.  Besides,  I  think  that  some  liberty  of 
expression  ought  to  be  allowed  to  a  man  at  my  time  of  life. 

However,  to  return  to  Mrs.  Hodge.  One  day  when  Mr.  Hodge 
was  about  finishing  his  dinner,  his  wife,  who  had  finished  hers  some 
time  ago,  having  but  a  poor  appetite  on  that  occasion,  was  complain- 
ing in  general  terms  of  her  own  hard  lot.  Mr.  Hodge  ate  away  and 
said  nothing.  Once  he  did  look  up  towards  her  as  he  reached  his 
hand  to  break  another  piece  of  bread  ;  and  as  he  contemplated  his 
wife's  head  for  a  moment,  he  thought  to  himself  if  she  would  give  it  a 
good  combing  the  probability  was  that  she  would  feel  better.  But  he 
said  nothing.  The  lady  did  expect  from  his  looks  that  he  was  going 
for  one  time  to  join  in  the  striving  which  had  hitherto  been  altogether 
on  one  side.  Finding  herself  disappointed,  she  brought  forth  a  sigh 
quite  audible,  and  evidently  hinted  a  more  tender  regret  for  the  late 
Mr.  Simmons  than  she  had  exhibited  even  in  the  first  period  of  her 
affliction  for  his  loss.     She  did  not  exactly  name  Mr.  Simmons,  but 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  203 

she  spoke  of  what  a  blessing  it  was  for  people  to  have  people  to  love 
'em  and  be  good  to  'em  ;  and  that  some  people  used  to  have  'em,  but 
they  was  dead  and  gone  now  ;  and  people  didn't  have  'em  in  these 
days  —  no,  not  even  to  talk  to  'em.  And  then  Mrs.  Hodge  gently 
declined  her  head,  gave  a  melancholy  sniff  with  her  nose,  and  looked 
into  her  plate  as  if  it  were  a  grave  and  she  were  hopelessly  endeavor- 
ing to  hold  conversation  with  its  occupant.  Mr.  Hodge  was  on  his 
last  mouthful.  He  stopped  chewing  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  his 
wife,  then  he  gave  a  swallow  and  thus  answered  : 

"  Oh  !  you  speakin  about  Simmons.  Yes,  Simmons  war  a  right 
good  feller ;  pity  he  died  so  young.  Ef  Simmons  had  not  a  died  so 
young,  some  people  might  a  been  better  off." 

And  then  Mr.  Hodge  rose,  put  on  his  hat,  and  walked  to  Dukes- 
borough  and  back.  When  he  returned,  Mrs.  Hodge  was  in  better 
humor  than  she  had  been  for  weeks  and  weeks? 


CHAPTER   V. 

On  the  night  immediately  succeeding  this  little  misunderstanding,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hodge  happened  to  meet  upon  a  subject  on  which  they 
agreed.  It  was  perhaps  a  lucky  thing  that  the  subject  was  broached 
that  night.  It  would  be  difficult  to  say  in  whose  mind  the  idea  first 
occurred  of  having  a  little  bit  of  a  store  in  one  of  the  little  shed-rooms. 
It  was  so  convenient,  in  the  first  place.  Their  house  was  within  only 
a  few  steps  of  the  road,  on  the  top  of  the  first  hill  just  this  side  of  the 
creek ;  and  the  little  shed-rooms  were  in  front,  with  little  windows 
opening  towards  the  road.  On  the  night  aforesaid  Mr.  Hodge  and 
his  wife  seemed  disposed  to  be  chatty.  Mr.  Hodge  was  gratified  that 
the  allusions  to  his  predecessor  had  so  soothing  an  effect.  They 
talked  a  while  about  their  having  no  children,  and  both  agreed  that 
it  seemed  to  be  the  lot  of  some  families  not  to  have  them.  And  then 
it  occurred  to  them  that  it  was  a  pity  that  the  two  little  shed-rooms 
could  not  be  put  to  some  use.  True,  they  had  been  keeping  a  sign- 
board which  promised  "  Entertainment  for  man  and  horse  ;  "  but  the 
stand  was  too  near  Dukesborough,  where  the  great  Mr.  Spouter  lived 
and  reigned.  Besides,  Mrs.  Hodge  had  sometimes  had  her  feelings 
hurt  by  occasional  side  remarks  of  what  few  guests  they  did  have 


204  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

about  the  height  of  the  charge,  which,  though  reasonable  enough 
generally  speaking,  seemed  high  when  compared  with  the  supper,  the 
bed,  and  the  breakfast.  This  business,  therefore,  for  some  time  had 
seemed  to  be  discouraging. 

On  the  night  aforesaid,  however,  it  seemed  a  fortunate  accident  that 
the  conversation  gradually  drifted  about  Dukesborough,  its  rapid 
growth,  and  the  probability  that  in  time  it  would  grow  to  be  an 
important  place.  Already  people  were  coming  to  the  stores  from  six 
or  seven  miles  around ;  and  it  was  believed  that  the  store-keepers, 
especially  Bland  &  Jones,  were  making  great  profits.  Threats  had 
been  made  that  unless  they  would  fall  in  their  charges  they  might 
hear  of  opposition.  While  talking  together  upon  these  things,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hodge  seemed  almost  simultaneously  to  think  that  it  might 
be  well,  in  all  the  circumstances,  to  convert  one  of  the  little  shed- 
rooms  into  a  little  store.  The  more  they  turned  this  idea  over  the 
more  it  seemed  good,  especially  to  Mrs.  Hodge.  She  was  for  going 
into  it  immediately.  Mr.  Hodge  thought  he  wanted  a  little  more 
time  for  reflection.  He  did  have  a  few  hundred  dollars  which  he  had 
accumulated  by  honest  work  and  good  economy  ;  but  he  was  without 
mercantile  experience,  and  people  had  told  him  that  merchants  some- 
times break  like  other  people.  Besides,  he  should  not  think  it 
prudent  to  neglect  the  farm,  and  that  required  most  of  his  attention. 
But  Mrs.  Hodge  suggested  that  she  could  attend  to  the  store  her  own 
self.  She  could  do  it,  she  knew  she  could.  He  could  go  on  and  attend 
to  the  farm,  and  spend  what  time  he  could  spare  from  that  in  the 
store.  Mrs.  Hodge  reasoned  that  her  husband  had  sometimes  com- 
plained that  she  invested  too  heavily  even  in  the  purchase  of  neces- 
sary articles  ;  and  here  was  an  opportunity  of  getting  all  such  things 
at  home  and  not  have  to  pay  out  one  cent  for  them,  except  of  course 
what  little  was  paid  out  for  them  in  the  beginning,  and  that  would  be 
lost  sight  of  in  the  general  profits  of  the  concern. 

Mr.  Hodge  reflected. 

What  about  the  housekeeping  ? 

Mrs.  Hodge  in  her  turn  reflected. 

Where  was  Susan  Temple  ? 

There  now !  If  ever  one  question  was  well  answered  by  pro- 
pounding another,  it  was  in  this  case.  Mr.  Hodge  admitted  this  to 
himself.  It  was  a  matter  he  had  himself  proposed  once  to  do,  to 
take  Susan  to  keep  house.     The  truth  was,  the  house  ought  to   be 


COXCERNING  MR.  yONAS  LIVELY.  205 

kept  by  somebody ;  and  Susan,  though  a  plain  girl,  was  known  to  be 
neat  and  orderly  and  industrious,  and  understood  even  most  of  the 
things  about  a  kitchen.  Mr.  Hodge  thought  to  himself  that  as  his 
wife's  talent  did  not  seem  to  be  in  housekeeping,  it  might  not  be 
wrong  to  let  it  make  a  small  effort  in  the  mercantile  line.  And  so 
they  agreed. 

This  was  all  right.  Susan  was  so  thankful  for  a  home  that  she  did 
her  best,  and  any  sensible  and  honest  person  would  have  been 
obliged  to  see  and  admit  that  the  housekeeping  improved.  Every- 
thing was  kept  clean  and  nice.  Mrs.  Hodge,  however,  thought  that 
if  she  gave  Susan  too  much  credit  for  this  change  it  might  spoil  her. 
It  was  the  way  with  all  such  people,  she  thought.  So  she  took  all  the 
credit  to  herself,  and  would  occasionally  remind  Susan  of  what  would 
have  become  of  her  if  they  had  not  taken  her  and  put  clothes  upon 
her  back.  Susan  ought  to  be  very  thankful,  more  so  than  she  seemed 
to  be  in  fact,  that  she  had  not  been  left  to  the  cold  charities  of  an 
unfeeling  world.  To  make  things  under  this  head  perfectly  safe, 
Mrs.  Hodge  sometimes  insisted  that  Susan  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
herself  for  not  doing  more  than  she  did,  considering  what  was  done 
for  her.  Susan,  doing  everything  as  it  was,  would  seem  to  look  about 
as  if  to  find  something  else  to  do.  Not  being  able  to  find  it,  she 
would  get  very  much  confused,  and  seem  to  conclude  that  she  must 
be  a  very  incompetent  person. 

But  the  store.  Mr.  Hodge  went  all  the  way  to  Augusta.  Mrs. 
Hodge  would  have  liked  to  go  too  ;  but  it  was  thought  not  necessary 
for  both  to  go.  So  Mr.  Hodge  went  alone,  and  laid  in  his  stock.  A 
hundred  dollars  well  laid  out  would  buy  something  in  those  times. 
Such  a  sum  goes  a  precious  little  way  these  days.  He  brought  home 
with  him  some  pieces  of  calico  and  skeins  of  silk,  a  few  hats,  a 
smart  box  of  shoes,  nails,  a  barrel  of  molasses,  and  one  of  sugar  ; 
some  coffee  in  a  keg,  two  or  three  jars  of  candy,  mostly  peppermint ; 
some  papers  of  cinnamon,  a  reasonable  number  of  red  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs, any  quantity  of  pins  and  needles,  a  good  supply  of  tobacco 
and  snuff,  and  one  side-saddle.  Mrs.  Hodge  had  urged  and  rather 
insisted  vipon  the  last  article.  Mr.  Hodge  hesitated,  and  seemed  to 
think  it  not  a  perfectly  safe  investment ;  but  he  yielded.  In  addition 
to  this  stock  Susan  made  ginger-cakes  and  spruce-beer.  These  sat 
on  a  shelf  outside  the  window,  except  in  rainy  weather.  Mr.  Bill 
Williams  once  brought  me  one  of  these  cakes,  and  I  thought  it  was  as 
sood  as  I  ever  ate. 


2o6  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

Mr.  Hodge,  being  a  man  somewhat  adroit  in  the  use  of  tools,  made 
his  own  counter  and  desk  and  shelves.  It  was  a  great  time  the  night 
on  which  the  goods  arrived.  It  was  after  dark  when  they  came,  but 
there  was  no  going  to  bed  until  those  goods  were  opened  and  set  in 
their  places.  And  oh,  how  particular  they  were  in  handling  !  Susan 
must  positively  be  more  particlar,  and  quit  bein  so  keerless,  because 
them  things  cost  money.  Susan  got  to  be  so  particular  that  she  even 
handled  the  tobacco-box  and  the  coffee-keg  as  if  they  were  all  cut 
glass.  When  she  took  the  pieces  of  calico  one  by  one  into  her 
hands  and  put  them  on  the  shelves,  you  would  have  thought  every  one 
w'as  a  very  young  baby  that  she  was  lifting  from  the  cradle  and  laying 
upon  its  mother's  breast.  When  the  box  of  shoes  was  opened  Susan 
declared  that  they  actilly  svielt  sweet,  that  they  smelt  the  sweetest  of 
anything  in  that  sto'  exceptin  the  cinnamon.  Mrs.  Hodge's  feelings 
were  too  deep  to  allow  very  many  words ;  but  she  let  Susan  go  on. 
Much  as  Mrs.  Hodge  admired  everything,  she  was  most  deeply  affected 
by  the  side-saddle.  The  seat  had  a  heart  quilted  into  it  of  red  stuff. 
This  was  so  becoming  that  Mrs.  Hodge  declared,  and  made  Susan 
admit,  that  it  was  the  loveliest  picter  that  ever  was  seen.  She  said 
that  that  picter  wer  the  picter  of  her  own  heart,  and  which  it  had  been 
on  a  new  side-saddle  for  she  didn't  know  how  long.  But  still  —  Mrs. 
Hodge  didn't  say  any  more  about  it  then.  She  merely  kept  caressing 
the  heart  softly  with  her  hand  until  Mr.  Hodge  placed  it  on  a  small 
board-horse  \vhich  he  had  made  for  the  purpose,  and  set  it  in  a  corner. 

When  all  was  finished  they  took  a  good  look  at  everything,  and  it 
was  the  unanimous  opinion  that  nobody  could  have  had  any  reason  to 
expect  that  that  shed-room  could  have  been  made  to  look  like  it  did 
then.  If  that  store  wasn't  carefully  locked  and  bolted  that  night, 
there  never  was  one  that  was.  Susan,  who  lodged  in  the  other  shed- 
room,  lay  awake  for  hours  —  she  declared  she  did  —  a  thinking  on  it 
all ;  but  as  for  her  part,  she  owned  it  was  mostly  about  the  shoes 
and  the  cinnamon. 

There  was  some  talk  about  the  store  in  the  neighborhood  for  a 
while.  Some  were  for  it  and  some  against  it.  The  Dukesborough 
merchants  were  all  of  the  latter  party.  Mr.  Bland  asked,  if  Hodge 
wanted  to  set  up  in  opposition,  why  didn't  he  come  into  town  like  a 
man  ?  It  didn't  look  fair  to  be  having  a  store  away  out  there  and  be 
a  farming  at  the  same  time.  But  when  he  heard  what  the  stock 
consisted  in  he  pretended  to  laugh,  and  i^eople  said  that  it  would 


CONCERXING  MR.  JOA'AS  LIVELY.  207 

never  come  to  anything.     Still  some  people  said  that  ]\Ir.  Bland  fell 
a  little  in  tobftcco  and  shoes. 

A  person  in  going  along  the  road  and  looking  upon  this  store, 
might  have  imagined  that,  apart  from  the  cake  and  spruce-beer,  it  had 
been  established  mainly  for  the  purpose  of  supplying  countr)?^  people 
with  such  little  things  as  they  would  be  likely  to  forget  whtle  in  town. 
Indeed,  after  the  novelty  had  passed  away  it  gradually  relapsed  into 
such  a  state  of  things.  It  was  seldom  that  a  customer  stopped  while 
on  his  way  into  town.  Mrs.  Hodge's  hopes  and  reliance  were  mainly 
on  the  outward  bound.  When  any  of  these  would  call,  she  was  wont 
to  meet  them  with  an  expression  of  countenance  which  seemed  to 
ask,  "  Well,  what  is  it  that  you  have  forgotten  to-day  ?  "  Like  other 
merchants,  Mrs.  Hodge,  who  gradually  became  the  principal  person 
in  the  concern,  studied  the  chances  and  possibilities  of  trade  ;  and 
her  husband  at  her  suggestion  laid  in  his  stock  in  the  fall, 
principally  of  such  articles  as  a  person  might  be  expected  to  overlook 
while  making  purchases  of  other  more  important  things.  He  added 
largely  to  his  stock  of  pins,  and  went  very  extensively  upon  combs 
and  buttons. 

The  side-siddle  seemed  hard  to  get  off  But  Mrs.  Hodge  at  the 
very  start,  on  learning  the  cost,  had  declared  that  it  was  entirely  too 
cheap ;  and  she  asked  for  the  pricing  of  that  herself,  and  she  thought 
she  was  warranted  in  putting  it  at  a  high  figure.  She  had  offers  for 
it.  The  heart  in  the  seat  had  attracted  several  ladies,  and  once  it 
was  within  a  half-dollar  of  going.  But  Mrs.  Hodge,  so  far  from  falling, 
intimated  an  intention  upon  reflection  of  rising,  and  that  drove  the 
customer  away. 

Upon  the  whole,  things  went  on  right  well.  Mrs.  Hodge  certainly 
improved  in  spirits  ;  but  of  course  she  never  could  attain  to  that 
state  of  contentment  which  ]\Ir.  Hodge  could  have  wished,  and  which 
at  first  he  did  fondly  anticipate.  In  the  matter  of  dressing  herself 
she  looked  up  a  little,  and  there  was  about  her  person  not  un- 
frequently  the  odor  of  mingled  cinnamon  and  peppermint.  And  it 
must  be  remarked  that  the  displeasure  that  it  seemed  inevitable  for 
her  to  indulge  at  intervals  was  now  divided  between  Mr.  Hodge  and 
Susan  Temple,  with  the  greater  share  to  the  latter.  Susan  did  not 
reflect  nigh  as  often  as  she  ought  what  it  was  to  her  to  have  a  home 
and  clothes  upon  her  back.  The  girl  knew  she  ought  to  do  it,  and 
was  everlastingly  trying  to  do  it,  and  filled  herself  with  reproaches 


2o8  DUKESBOROUGH    TALES. 

for  her  own  ingratitude  to  her  Aunt  Malviny.  Mr.  ♦Hodge  didn't 
express  an}^  opinion  upon  the  subject,  but  seemed  to  be  satisfied  with 
taking  care  of  himself  the  best  he  could.  His  attention  lately  had 
been  restored  mostly  to  his  farm. 

In  one  of  his  trips  to  Augusta  he  brought  back  with  him  Mr. 
Lively.  Ae  had  made  his  acquaintance  some  time  before,  and  had 
mentioned  the  fact  that  the  gentleman  had  talked  about  coming  to 
take  board  with  them,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  propose,  in  such  an 
event,  to  pay  as  much  as  five  dollars  a  month.  This  sounded  well. 
Mrs.  Hodge  had  an  idea  that  the  having  a  boarder  might  make  the 
house  come  to  be  regarded  more  as  a  public  place ;  and  so  she  said  that, 
as  for  herself,  she  was  willing.  So  Mr.  Lively  came.  When  he  did 
come,  she  thought  he  was  certainly  the  queerest  person  that  she  had 
ever  seen.  She  looked  at  his  hair  and  then  at  his  nose  and  legs,'and 
then  at  his  hair  again,  from  which  he  never  removed  his  hat,  not  even 
at  meals.  But  he  was  a  boarder,  she  knew,  and  was  entitled  to 
privileges.  She  tried  to  pick  him  ;  but  Mr.  Lively  was  a  man  of 
some  experience  and  would  not  be  picked.  Mrs.  Hodge  being 
satisfied  that  it  was  best  for  Mr.  Lively  to  know  at  once  that  she  was 
a  person  of  consideration,  berated  Susan  the  very  first  night  of  his 
arrival  for  her  carelessness  and  general  worthlessness. 

Messrs.  Hodge  and  Lively  seemed  to  get  along  together  very  well. 
The  latter,  like  the  former,  was  a  man  of  few  words  ;  and  as  time 
lapsed  they  seemed  to  have  something  of  a  friendship  for  each  other. 
On  the  contrary,  Mrs.  Hodge  seemed  to  have  less  and  less  regard  for 
her  boarder  according  as  he  and  her  husband  seemed  to  like  each  other 
the  more,  and  was  often  heard^  to  say  that  in  her  opinion  there  was 
nothing  in  Mr.  Lively.  Whatever  estimate  Mr.  Lively  placed  upon  her 
he  never  told  to  anybody ;  but  he  went  along  and  acted  as  if  Mrs. 
Hodge  and  whatever  might  be  her  thoughts  alDout  him  were  not  at  all 
in  his  way.  As  time  passed  Mr.  Hodge  would  often  sit  with  Mr. 
Lively,  and  talk  with  him  with  some  freedom  of  his  business  and 
other  matters.  Small  as  was  Mr.  Hodge's  business  comparatively, 
he  was  careful  of  his  papers  and  always  kept  them  locked  up  in  his 
desk. 

On  one  of  his  return  trips  from  Augusta  Mr.  Hodge  spent  a  little 
more  time  than  usual  at  his  desk  in  looking  over  his  papers  and  one 
thing  and  another ;  but  when  he  came  out  he  seemed  to  be  very  well 
satisfied.     The  next  day  he  was  taken  sick.     Little  was  thought  of  it 


CONCERNLVG  MR.  JOXAS  LIVELY.  209 

at  first ;  but  in  a  day  or  two  he  took  on  a  fever,  which  looked  as  if 
his  time  was  coining.  Mr.  Hodge  himself  did  not  seem  to  be  aware 
of  the  state  of  the  case  until  it  was  too  late  to  leave  any  special 
directions  about  anything.  At  the  last  he  did  rouse  himself  a  little, 
looked  very  hard  at  Mr.  Lively,  and  muttered  a  few  unintelligible 
words  about  "  my  desk,"  and  Mr.  Lively's  being  "  mighty  particular," 
and  such  things.  But  at  last  he  had  to  give  it  up,  and  then  Mr. 
Hodge  carried  his  succession  of  Mr.  Simmons  to  extremes. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

So  now  here  was  Mrs.  Malviny  a  widow  for  the  second  time.  The 
late  Mr.  Hodge  was  mourned  becomingly  by  all  the  household. 
Even  Mr.  Lively  was  seen  to  brush  away  a  tear  or  two  at  the  funeral ; 
but  Mrs.  Hodge  and  Susan  did  the  most  of  the  actual  crying,  and 
they  cried  heartily.  Both  felt  that  Mr.  Hodge's  continued  absence 
from  that  house  was  obliged  to  make  a  difference. 

The  question  now  was  what  must  be  done.  Mr.  Lively  seemed  to 
think  that  Mr.  Hodge  must  have  left  a  will,  so  he  and  Mrs.  Hodge 
in  a  day  or  two  went  together  and  looked  carefully  over  the  papers ; 
and  although  Mr.  Lively  followed  Mr.  Hodge's  last  confused  directions, 
nothing  could  be  found.  Mrs.  Hodge  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  heir 
the  property ;  and  as  there  were  no  debts,  it  was  considered  not 
worth  while  to  take  out  letters  of*  administration.  Seeing  that  she 
was  obliged  to  take  the  responsibility  of  all  this  business,  she  submitted, 
and  was  very  meek,  remarking  that  now  she  was  nothing  but  a  lone 
woman  in  the  world,  property  was  no  great  things  in  her  mind.  But 
she  thought  she  could  be  kind  to  Susan  Temple.  Of  course  Susan 
was  nothing  to  her,  and  it  was  an  expense  to  feed  her  and  put  clothes 
on  her  back  ;  still  she  might  stay  there  on  the  same  terms  as  before. 
People  should  never  say  that  she  had  the  heart  to  turn  off  a  poor 
orphan  on  the  cold  charities  of  the  world.  Susan  was  very  thankful, 
perfectly  overcome  with  gratitude  indeed,  and  continued  to  do  every- 
thing ;  and,  like  Alexander  the  Great,  would  almost  weep  that  there 
was  nothing  more  to  do.  As  for  Mr.  Lively,  he  somehow  had  got 
used  to  the  place  and  didn't  feel  like  going  away  at  his  time  of  life 
to  seek  a  new  home.  Mrs.  Hodge  also  disliked  the  idea  of  turning 
27 


210  '  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

away  one  that  had  been  so  good  a  friend  of  the  family  ;  and  indeed, 
with  all  the  business  upon  her  hands,  it  did  look  like  that  one  who 
was  nobody  but  a  poor  lone  woman  in  the  world  should  have  some 
friend  near  enough  to  go  to  sometimes  for  advice,  instead  of  being 
everlastingly  running  to  a  lawyer  and  they  a  charging  all  that  a  poor 
lone  woman  could  make.  Mr.  Lively  seemed  gratified,  and  thus 
matters  settled  down ;  but  all  seemed  to  miss  poor  Mr.  Hodge. 

And  now  many  years  had  elapsed  since  Mrs.  Hodge  had  been  a 
widow  before.  She  reflected  upon  it.  Yet  she  was  thankful  that  she 
could  bear  up  under  this  repeated  infliction  as  well  as  she  did,  and 
that  she  was  as  strong  and  active  as  any  person  who  was  a  mere  lone 
woman  in  the  world  could  be  expected  to  be.  The  amount  of  business 
now  upon  her  hands  would  require  as  much  strength  and  activity  as 
could  be  commanded.  Her  looking-glass  had  somehow  got  broken 
some  time  since,  all  but  one  little  piece  in  the  corner  of  the  frame. 
Mrs.  Hodge  gave  what  was  left  to  Susan,  remarking  that  as  for  herself 
she  had  very  little  use  for  such  things.  Some  time  afterwards, 
however,  she  reflected  that  even  the  lonely  and  desolate  should  go 
neatly,  and  that  it  always  did  require  more  pains  to  dress  in  black. 
Even  Susan  admitted  this  to  be  true,  and  she  fully  justified  her  Aunt 
Malviny  in  the  purchase  of  a  new  dress. 

Weeks  passed,  and  then  some  months.  Mrs.  Hodge's  strength 
and  activity  grew  so  that  she  began  to  feel  as  if  they  might  be  as 
good  as  ever.  Mr.  Bill  Williams  and  others,  including  Mr.  Lively,  had 
heard  her  say  that,  although  she  knew  it  must  be  so,  yet  she  did  not 
feel  any  older  than  she  did  when  she  married  Mr.  Hodge.  It  was 
perfectly  plain  to  see  that  Mrs.  Hodge  was  not  willing  to  be  con- 
sidered one  day  older  than  she  really  was,  notwithstanding  what 
she  had  been  through ;  and  that  if  she  had  to  grow  old  she  intended 
to  do  so  by  degrees.  Mrs.  Hodge's  face  certainly  did  look  somewhat 
thinner  than  it  did  in  those  former  years  ;  but  it  began  to  participate 
in  the  general  recovery,  and  to  have  a  peachiness  which  occasionally 
extended  over  the  whole  jaw.  Remarks  had  been  made  about  that 
peachiness,  the  various  directions  it  took,  and  the  varying  amount  of 
surface  it  overspread  at  different  times.  She  heard  of  some  of  these 
remarks  once ;  they  made  her  very  mad,  and  she  said  that  the  color 
of  her  cheeks  was  nobody  else's  business. 

The  rest  of  Mrs.  Hodge  was  entirely  satisfactory.  She  had  always 
been  a  very  good  figure  of  a  woman,  and  evert  now,  from  her  neck 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  211 

down,  she  was  apparently  round  as  a  butter-ball.  And  how  spry  she 
was  in  her  walk !  In  this  respect  she  could  not  be  beat.  I  do  think 
that  when  she  was  walking  rapidly,  her  usual  gait,  and  had  to  pass 
any  unpleasant  obstruction,  she  would  lift  her  skirts  as  adroitly  as  any 
lady  I  ev'^er  knew.  And  then  she  rode  a  horse  remarkably  well,  for 
now  she  had  laid  aside  the  old  side-saddle  and  took  the  one  with  the 
heart  in  the  seat.  The  new  one  would  not  sell  at  the  price  demanded, 
and  the  old  one  was  not  comfortable. 

This  restoration  of  her  youth  seemed  to  do  away  with  the  melancholy 
in  which  her  married  life  had  been  too  prone  to  indulge.  She  even 
became  somewhat  gay.  I  do  not  mean  wild  ;  there  was  not  a 
particle  of  what  might  be  called  wildness  about  her.  But  apparently 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  yield  herself  up  to  useless  regrets 
for  what  could  not  be  helped,  to  do  the  best  she  could  as  long  as  she 
was  in  the  world,  and  to  stay  in  it  as  long  as  she  could.  When 
persons  come  to  these  conclusions  they  can  afford  to  be  cheerful, 
and  sometimes  even  a  little  gaj^  Mrs.  Hodge  had  lost  one  husband. 
Many  a  woman  does  the  same  and  then  gives  up ;  and  although  some 
of  them  reconsider  and  take  back,  yet  others  give  up  for  good.  Mrs. 
Hodge  had  put  herself  right  on  this  point  in  the  beginning.  She 
refused  to  give  up  at  Mr.  Simmons's  departure ;  and  then,  when 
another  man  who  was  at  least  as  good,  and  even  better,  presented 
himself,  she  had  nothing  to  take  back,  and  we  saw  how  it  all  ended. 
People  said,  as  they  always  do,  that  it  was  heartless  ;  but  this  gave 
her  no  concern.  And  if  it  had,  there  was  Mr.  Hodge  to  help  her 
bear  it.  This  experience  seemed  to  be  of  value  to  her  in  this  second 
bereavement.  The  course  she  had  pursued  in  that  first  extremity 
was  so  judicious  and  turned  out  so  well  that  the  fact  is,  Mrs.  Hodge 
began  to  ask  herself  what  she  might  do  provided  another  person  of 
the  opposite  sex  should  make  a  remark  similar  to  that  which  Mr. 
Hodge  had  made,  and  which  had  so  momentous  consequences. 

But  now,  here  was  the  difference.  Men  are  more  slow  to  make 
remarks  of  that  sort  to  ladies  of  forty  or  thereabouts  who  have 
already  had  two  husbands,  than  to  those  of  five-and-twenty  who  have 
had  but  one.  Mrs.  Hodge  noticed  this,  and  it  made  the  peachiness 
of  her  cheeks  increase  at  times  to  such  a  degree  that  it  extended  up 
to  her  very  eyes.  Yet  the  more  she  thought  upon  the  probability  that 
another  person  might  succeed  to  the  position  which  Mr.  Simmons 
first  and  Mr.  Hodge  afterwards  had  vacated,  the  more  she  believed 


212  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

that  an  extraordinary  amount  of  happiness  might  result  in  such  case 
to  all  parties.  She  thought  to  herself  that  she  had  experience,  and 
with  sensible  persons  that  was  worth  at  least  as  much  as  youth. 

I  have  often  heard  it  remarked,  and  indeed  my  own  observation, 
I  rather  think,  affirms,  that  when  a  lady  who  has  been  married, 
especially  one  who  has  been  married  more  than  once,  is  making  up 
her  mind  to  do  so  again,  she  makes  it  up  with  some  rapidity.  We 
remember  of  Queen  Dido,  who  was  a  very  respectable  widow  for  her 
day  and  generation.  By-the-bye,  she  was  one  who  gave  up  when  her 
first  husband  died.  Yet,  after  listening  to  another  man  talk  nearly 
all  night  long,  mainly  about  himself,  she  began  to  make  up  her  mind 
on  the  very  next  day  ;  and  about  nine  o'clock,  or  at  any  rate  soon 
after  breakfast  on  the  day  after,  she  was  married  —  or  what  she  called 
married.  He  did  not,  it  seemed  ;  and  acted  very  badl}'^,  I  always 
thought,  for  in  no  long  time  after  he  ran  away  and  left  her,  and 
then  she  did  give  up  for  good. 

But  to  return  to  Mrs.  Hodge.  Knowing  that  she  did  not  have  as 
much  time  as  before  she  began  to  cast  about,  and  her  ears  were 
opened  to  pertinent  remarks  which  any  single  gentleman  might  be 
disposed  to  make.  But  both  widowers  and  bachelors  were  scarce  ; 
and  what  few  there  were  either  were  young  or  had  their  thoughts 
upon  younger  ladies,  or  possibly  did  not  understand  the  nature  of 
Mrs.  Hodge's  feelings. 

At  first  she  had  not  thought  much  about  Mr.  Jonas  Lively.  True, 
he  stayed  there  and  looked  somewhat  after  out-door  business,  and 
even  advised  occasionally  about  the  store.  For  Mrs.  Hodge  still 
thought  it  best  to  keep  up  the  store,  though  upon  a  scale  somewhat 
more  limited  than  before  ;  and  in  the  multitude  of  the  business  matters 
now  devolved  upon  her,  she  could  not  give  her  undivided  attention  as 
before  to  this  single  one.  Susan  Temple,  therefore,  who  had  been 
anxious,  as  we  have  seen,  to  find  additional  work,  looked  after  the  store, 
and  Mr.  Lively  gave  a  helping  hand  sometimes.  Useful  as  Mr. 
Lively  was,  he  had  not  been  thought  of  at  first  except  as  a  mere 
boarder  and  friend  of  the  family.  Besides  his  general  want  of 
attractiveness,  Mrs.  Hodge  knew  too  much  about  him.  I  am  satisfied 
that  a  too  long  and  intimate  acquaintance  between  two  persons  of 
opposite  sexes  is  not  favorable  to  marriage  connections.  You  seldom 
know  a  girl  to  marry  her  next  door  neighbor's  son.  A  notable 
instance,  1  admit,  was  that  of  Pyramus  and  Thisbe.     They  did  make 


CONCERNING  AfR.  yONAS  LIVELY.  213 

the  effort  to  marry  each  other,  and  probably  would  have  succeeded 
but  for  a  very  hasty  and  fatally  erroneous  conclusion  of  the  gentleman 
touching  a  matter  of  fact.  But  even  taking  this  to  be  a  true  history 
and  not  a  mere  fable,  I  have  been  inclined  frequently,  while  contem- 
plating this  peculiar  case,  to  maintain  that  the  strong  attachment  of 
these  young  persons  to  each  other,  residing  as  they  did  in  contiguous 
houses,  was  owing  mainly  to  the  fact  that  their  respective  families  so 
assiduously  kept  them  apart,  and  thus  they  were  able  to  court  each 
other  only  through  a  comparatively  small  hole  in  the  dividing  wall. 
But  such  cases  are  very  uncommon,  even  in  extraordinary  circum- 
stances. My  opinion  is  that,  as  a  general  thing,  persons  who  desire 
to  marry  well,  and  have  no  great  things  to  go  upon  (if  I  may  be 
allowed  to  use  such  an  expression),  do  best  by  striking  out  at  some 
distance  from  home. 

But  I  must  positively  try  to  stick  closer  to  Mr.  Lively  and  Mrs. 
Hodge.  I  hope  I  shall  be  pardoned  for  these  digressions.  The  fact 
is,  that  a  man  of  my  time  of  life  has  seen  so  much  of  the  world,  to  say 
nothing  of  what  he  has  read  in  books,  if  like  myself  he  have  been  a 
reading  man,  that  he  has  picked  up  some  useful  experience  and  observa- 
tion which  it  may  be  his  duty  to  communicate  even  in  such  narrations  as 
I  am  now  writing,  although  the  occasions  for  such  communication  may 
sometimes  appear  to  be  inopportune.  We  do  not  know  always  what 
is  best  to  do  in  such  matters.  That  is  a  remark,  I  am  aware,  that 
might  be  applied  to  very  many  other  matters  of  various  sorts.  That 
man  does  well  who,  whether  in  writing  or  speaking,  succeeds  in 
avoiding  both  extremes,  the  one  of  having  too  many  words  and  the 
other  of  having  too  few.  While  I  have  never  had  any  great  appre- 
hension of  falling  into  the  latter,  I  think  that  I  may  say  that  few  men 
of  my  age  have  coasted  around  the  former  more  assiduously  than  I 
have.  And  thus  I  can  easily  return  from  this  digression  to  Pyramus 
and  Thisbe,  and  the  reflections  their  case  induced,  to  Mr.  Jonas  Lively 
and  Mi's.  Malviny  Hodge. 

I  repeat  that,  besides  his  general  want  of  attractiveness,  Mrs.  Hodge 
knew  too  much  about  Mr.  Lively  to  be  capable  of  entertaining  a  very 
hasty  and  violent  thought  of  raising  him  to  the  succession  of  the 
couple  of  gentlemen  who  had  gone  before.  For  two  long  years  and 
more  they  had  lived  in  the  same  house,  and  long  before  this  period 
Mrs.  Hodge  had  contended  that,  with  the  exception  of  his  hair,  she 
already  knew  all  about  Mr.  Lively  that  was  worth  knowing.     Except 


214  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

in  this  matter  of  the  hair  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  say  in  what 
both  she  and  Mr.  Lively  had  failed  to  find  each  other  out  in  all  this 
time.  We  never  knew  much  of  his  opinion  respecting  her,  but  we 
know  that  hers  respecting  him  fell  far  short  of  extreme  admiration. 

But  time  was  moving  on,  and  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Hodge's  own  youth- 
ful gaiety  and  activity,  she  had  learned  to  give  up  some  of  that  ardent 
appreciation  which,  in  her  younger  days,  she  had  set  upon  mere 
external  appeai^ances.  It  had  come  to  be  generally  understood  that 
Mr.  Lively  had  property  somewhere  or  other  to  the  amount  of  several 
thousand  dollars.  He  was  neither  young  nor  handsome.  Rut  Mrs. 
Hodge  reasoned  with  herself.  She  remembered  that  she  had  had 
already  two  young  and  rather  good-looking  husbands  ;  and  even  if  she 
had  been  younger  herself,  she  could  not  be  expected  to  go  on  at  this 
rate  and  marry  an  unlimited  number  of  such  men.  So,  to  be  plain 
with  herself,  she  thought  she  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  what  she  had 
already  enjoyed  of  these  blessings  ;  and  to  be  yet  plainer,  she  thought 
she  might  go  further  and  fare  worse.  It  has  always  been  a  matter  of 
remark  with  me  what  an  amount  of  prudence  some  women  can  exert 
under  the  cover  of  unlimited  frivolity.  But  I  have  no  idea  of  pursuing 
this  thought  any  further  now. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  at  the  period  when  I  first  introduced 
Mr.  Lively  to  the  reader.  Mr.  Bill  Williams  had  noticed,  as  he 
thought,  that  his  cousin  Malviny  was  beginning  to  look  up  to  Mr. 
Lively. 

Nobody  knew  Mr.  Lively's  views,  either  of  Mrs.  Hodge  or  of  the 
general  subject  of  marriage.  He  had  never  been  heard  to  say 
whether  he  would  or  w^ould  not  marr}^  in  certain  or  in  any  contingen- 
cies. But  if  he  intended  ever  to  marry,  it  was  high  time  he  was 
thinking  about  making  arrangements.  This  was  all  that  people 
had  to  say  about  it.  When  Mrs.  Hodge  began  to  collect  her  scat- 
tered thoughts,  they  converged  upon  him  with  the  strength  and 
rapidity  usual  in  such  cases.  She  had  no  doubt  that  this  would  be  an 
easy  conquest.  Indeed  her  shrewd  mind  had  guessed  that  this  was 
what  Mr.  Lively  had  been  staying  there  for  all  this  while.  But  she 
charged  him  in  her  mind  with  being  rather  slow  to  take  a  hint,  after 
having  several  times  pointedly  driven  Susan  out  of  the  room,  and  with 
her  looks  invited  Mr.  Lively  to  tell  what  she  knew  must  be  on  his 
mind.  Mr.  Lively  at  first  seemed  slow  to  notice  all  this,  and  he  was 
equally  slow  to  notice  how  much  the  character  of  the  breakfasts  had 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  215 

improved  of  late.  A  little  bit  of  a  something  nice  would  be  sitting 
by  his  plate  every  morning.  This  was  for  the  most  part  some  small 
fish,  a  string  of  which  Mrs.  Hodge  would  frequently  purchase  from  a 
negro  or  poor  white  boy  who  had  caught  them  the  night  before  from 
the  creek.  These  would  usually  just  be  enough  for  Mr.  Lively.  Mrs. 
Hodge  and  Susan  would  never  accept  of  any,  and  the  former  thought 
that  Mr.  Lively  ought  not  to  have  misunderstood  the  glance  and  the 
smile  with  which  she  would  decline.  Sometimes  there  would  be  also 
beside  his  plate  a  little  sprig  of  something  or  other,  mostly  cedar. 
But  he  would  forget  to  take  it  up  and  fix  it  in  his  button-hole. 
Women  do  not  like  for  such  favors  and  attentions  to  pass  unregarded. 
Mrs.  Hodge  began  to  be  vexed,  and  speak  sharply  to  Mr.  Lively  and 
Susan  alternately  about  her  opinions  of  both.  She  would  say  to  Mr. 
Lively  that  in  her  opinion  Susan  was  the  most  good-for-nothing  hussy 
that  anybody  was  ever  troubled  with ;  and  she  told  Susan  more  than 
once  that  Jonas  Lively  was  the  blindest  old  fool  that  ever  lived,  and 
that  he  didn't  have  sense  enough  to  ask' for  what  he  wanted,  and  what 
he  ought  to  know  he  could  get  for  the  asking. 

Mr.  Lively,  never  or  seldom  having  been  the  object  of  any  woman's 
pursuit,  was  slow  to  understand  Mrs.  Hodge.  The  truth  was  he  had 
become  warmly  attached  to  the  place,  and  he  was  very  anxious  to  stay 
there  and  make  it  his  home.  At  first  he  did  not  clearly  see  Mrs. 
Hodge's  plans.  But  there  are  some  things  which  even  the  dullest 
understandings  may  be  forced  to  take  in  after  a  while.  By  degrees  he 
began  to  open  his  eyes,  to  look  around  him,  and  to  appear  to  be 
pleased.  The  single  attachment  of  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Malviny 
Hodge  ought  not  to  be  a  thing  that  could  be  rudely  cast  aside  by  such 
a  man  as  Jonas  Lively.  When,  therefore,  Mrs.  Hodge  began  to  press 
matters  a  little,  ]\Ir.  Lively  showed  very  plainly  that  he  was  not  a  fool. 
And  Mrs.  Hodge  had  began  to  press  matters.  She  had  even  gone  to 
expense.  She  sat  down  one  night  and  counted  up  what  she  had  spent 
upon  him  in  strings  of  fish  and  other  luxuries,  and  found  that  it 
amounted  to  eight  dollars  and  something.  Extravagant  as  this  was, 
she  determined  to  go  further,  especially  as  her  instincts  had  taught 
her  that  there  were  some  signs  of  intelligence  ancj  reciprocation. 
Mr.  Lively  had  lately  gone  upon  his  yearly  trip  to  Augusta  and  had 
returned  earlier  than  usual  with  some  improvement  in  his  dress. 
This  was  an  excellent  sign.  Besides,  he  was  growing  more  communi- 
cative with  his  hostess,  and  occasionally  had  a  kind  word  even  for 


2i6  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

Susan.     Things  began  to  look  well  generally,  and  as  if  that  was  one 
undivided  family,  or  ought  to  be  and  would  be. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

The  cordial  relations  in  the  household  of  Mrs.  Malviny  Hodge 
became  much  more  decided  after  a  little  incident  that  occurred 
one  morning  before  breakfast.  Mrs.  Hodge  had  not  yet  risen 
from  her  couch ;  she  had  always  contended  that  too  early  rising 
was  not  good  for  the  complexion.  Susan,  who  had  other  things  to 
think  about  besides  complexion,  always  rose  betimes  and  went  to  her 
work.  On  this  morning,  at  about  sunrise,  she  was  sweeping  the  store 
and  readjusting  things  there  generally.  Susan  was  an  inveterate 
sweeper ;  she  had  made  a  little  broom  of  turkey-quills,  and  was  brushing 
out  the  desk  with  it.  One  of  the  quills  being  a  little  sharpened  at  the 
end  by  constant  use,  had  intruded  itself  into  a  crack  and  forced  out 
the  corner  of  a  paper  which  had  been  lodged  there.  She  drew  the 
whole  out,  and  seeing  that  it  was  one  of  Mr.  Lively's  letters,  as  it  was 
addressed  to  him,  at  once  handed  it  to  that  gentleman,  who  happened 
to  be  standing  by  the  window  outside  and  had  just  remarked  what  a 
fine  morning  it  was.  Mr.  Lively  took  the  letter,  wondering  how  he 
could  have  been  so  careless  as  to  leave  it  there.  He  opened  it,  looked 
at  the  beginning  for  a  moment,  and  then  at  the  end  ;  then  remarking 
that  it  was  all  right,  and  that  he  was  much  obliged  to  Susan,  he  went 
to  his  office.  At  breakfast  Mr.  Lively  said  that  he  believed  he  would 
ride  to  the  court-house  that  day,  as  he  had  not  been  there  in  some 
time,  but  that  he  would  surely  return  at  night.  Mrs.  Hodge  merely 
remarked  that  she  had  given  orders  for  a  chicken-pie  for  dinner ;  but 
to-morrow  would  do  as  well,  she  supposed.  Oh  yes,  certainly;  or 
Mrs.  Hodge  and  Susan  might  have  it  all  to  themselves.  Oh  no,  no ; 
they  could  have  it  to-morrow. 

That  night  when  Mr.  Lively  returned  and  came  into  supper,  there 
was  a  sight  for  .the  eyes  of  a  man  who  had  ridden  twenty  miles  and 
gone  without  his  dinner,  except  a  couple  of  biscuits  which  Mrs.  Hodge 
had  put  with  her  own  hands  into  his  coat-pocket  in  the  morning.  On 
that  supper-table  were  not  only  fried  eggs,  but  two  sorts  of  fish,  perch 
and  horny-heads.       IMr.  Lively  had    an  appetite,  and   these  dishes 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  217 

looked  and  smelt  exactly  right.  Uncle  Moses,  Aunt  Dilcy's  husband, 
had  been  made  to  quit  his  work  for  the  afternoon  for  the  express 
purpose  of  having  those  fish  for  supper.  Mrs.  Hodge  looked  at  them 
and  at  Mr.  Lively.  She  said  nothing,  but  there  was  expression  in 
her  countenance.  * 

"Ah,  indeed.?"  inquired  Mr.  Lively,  as  he  took  his  seat. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  answered  Mrs.  Hodge. 

Even  Susan  looked  gratified;  she  had  fried  them  every  one.  In 
spite  of  his  intense  satisfaction,  Mr.  Lively  was  a  little  pained  that 
the  ladies  should  compel  him  to  eat  more  than  as  an  honest  man  he 
considered  his  proper  share.  He  insisted  and  insisted,  not  only  that 
Mrs.  Hodge,  but  that  Susan  should  take  some  ;  and  at  last  he  declared 
that  if  they  didn't,  he  would  stop  eating  himself.  He  maintained 
that  people  oughtn't  to  try  to  kill  a  person  that  liked  them  as  well  as 
he  did  the  present  company,  by  trying  to  make  him  eat  himself 
to  death,  and  that,  as  for  his  part,  that  he  wasn't  going  to  do  it, 
because  he  felt  more  like  living  on  in  this  little  world  now  than  he 
had  ever  done.  Being  thus  pressed,  she  compromised.  She  agreed 
that  she  would  take  an  egg  and  a  horny-head,  or  maybe  two  horny- 
heads  ;  but  she  declared  that  she  wouldn't  tech  a  pearch  :  they  was 
for  Mr.  Lively,  and  him  alone.  Susan  had  to  come  in  that  far 
also;  Mr.  Lively  insisted  upon  it.  She  tried  to  get  off  with  one 
very  small  little  bit  of  a  horny-head ;  but  it  was  no  go.  Mr.  Lively 
maintained  that  there  was  enough  perch  for  all,  and  he  made  them 
both  come  squarely  up. 

_  Oh  it  was  all  so  nice  !  Mr.  Lively  was  quite  chatty  for  him.  His 
visit  to  the  county-town,  the  ride  and  the  supper,  had  all  enlivened 
him  up  smartly ;  but  after  all,  he  didn't  see  that  the  county-town  had 
any  very  great  advantage  over  Dukesborough.  Dukesborough  was 
coming  along ;  there  was  no  doubt  about  that.  As  for  himself,  he 
would  rather  live  where  he  was  living  now  than  at  the  county-town,  or 
indeed  any  other  place  he  knew  of;  he  hoped  to  end  his  days  right  where 
he  was.  It  would  have  been  too  indelicate  for  Mr.  Lively  to  look  at 
Mrs.  Hodge  after  these  words,  and  so  he  locked  at  Susan.  Both  the 
ladies  looked  down  ;  but  it  was  all  so  pleasant. 

By  the  time  supper  was  over,  as  it  had  been  delayed  for  Mr.  Lively's 

return,  it  was  getting  to  be  his  bed-time  ;  but  it  didn't  look  right  to  be 

hurrying  off  after  such  a  supper  as  that.     Besides,  Mr.  Lively  of  late 

had  been   in  the  habit  of  lingering  in  the  house  a  little  lono-er  of 

28  '' 


2i8  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

evenings  than  formerly  —  no  great  deal,  but  a  little.  On  this 
occasion  it  might  have  been  foreseen  that  he  was  not  going  to  rush 
right  away  from  that  society. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Lively ,«when  he  and  Mrs.  Hodge  had  taken  their 
seats  before  the  fireplace,  and  Susan  was  clearing  away  the  things, 
"  Well,  they  ware  fine  !  I  pity  them  that  don't  live  on  any  sort  of 
water-course.  Fish  air  blessings,  certain,  even  when  they  air  small. 
Indeed,  the  little  ones  air  about  the  best,  I  believe  ;  because  they  air 
as  a  general  thing  always  fried  brown,  and  then  a  person  don't  have 
to  be  always  stopping  to  pull  out  the  bones.  Those  we  had  for 
supper  ware  fried  ex-zactly  right." 

Mrs.  Hodge  was  a  woman  who  liked  appreciation  even  in  small 
things.  "  I'm  glad  you  think  so,  Mr.  Lively.  I  told  Susan  to  be  very 
particler  about  'em,  because  I  thought  you  loved  to  have  'em  brown." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Lively,  with  some  emphasis  ;  "  always  when  they 
air  small  and  you  don't  have  to  stop  to  pull  out  the  bones." 

"Yes,  and  you  may  well  say  bones,"  replied  Mrs.  Hodge — "fish- 
bones in  particler.  Fish-bones  is  troublesome,  and  even  dangous 
sometimes.  My  grandfather  had  a  aunt  that  got  one  in  her  throat 
outen  one  o'  them  big  fish  they  used  to  have  in  them  times,  and  it 
come  nigh  killing  her  at  the  first  offstart ;  and  it  never  did  git  out 
that  anybody  ever  heerd  of.  And  she  used  to  have  a  heap  of  pains 
for  forty  years  arfter,  and  she  said  she  knowed  it  was  that  fish-bone, 
and  that  it  run  up  and  down  all  over  her ;  and  even  when  she  was  on 
her  dyin  bed  with  the  rheumatism,  and  I  don't  know  how  old  she  war 
then,  she  declared  that  it  was  nothin  but  that  fish-bone  that  was  a 
killin  her." 

"  My  !  my  !  your  grandfather's  aunt !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Lively,  and 
he  could  not  have  looked  more  concerned  if  it  had  been  his  own 
grandfather's  aunt  instead  of  Mrs.  Hodge's  who  had  come  to  such  a 
tragical  end.  But  he  reflected  perhaps  that  for  some  time  past  that 
relative  had  been  relieved  of  her  sufferings,  and  then  he  looked 
towards  the  table  where  Susan  was  rapidly  clearing  away  the  things. 

"  Be  in  a  hurry  there,  Susan,"  said  Mrs.  Hodge,  in  a  mild  but 
admonitory  tone. 

"Yes;  fish  and  such-like's  blessins ;  but  yit  — "  Mrs.  Hodge 
couldn't  quite  make  it  out. 

Susan  hurried  matters,  I  tell  you. 

"  Oh  yes,  indeed,"  suggested  Mr.  Livel}'. 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  219 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Hodge  admitted;  "but  still  fishes  and  —  livin  on 
water-courses,  and  —  everything  o'  that  kind's  not  the  onliest  things 
in  this  world." 

"Oh  no,  indeed,"  hastily  replied  Mr.  Lively.  "But  still  —  I 
suppose,  indeed  I  think  —  of  course  thair  must  be  —  and  —  "  But 
Mr.  Lively  at  that  moment  couldn't  think  of  what  else  there  was  in 
the  world. 

"Yes,  indeed."  Mrs.  Hodge,  having  thus  recovered,  could  proceed 
a  little  further.  "  Fishes  and  such-like's  blessins,  I  know ;  I  don't 
deny  it.  Of  cose  it  is  to  them  that  loves  'em,  and  to  them  I  spose  it's 
very  well  to  live  on  water-courses.  Yit  them  and  everything  else  is 
not  all  to  every  person." 

"  Oh  no,  no  ;  by  no  means."  Mr.  Lively  would  not  wish  to  be  so 
understood. 

"Not  all,"  continued  Mrs.  Hodge;  "particler  that  a  person  might 
wish  in  a  vain  world.  No,  fair  be  it  to  them  that  has  loved  and  lost, 
and  loved  and  lost  again,  and  might  love  again  once  more,  and  that 
forever  and  eternally  !  " 

Pen  cannot  describe  the  touching  solemnity  with  which  these  words 
were  uttered.  Mr.  Lively  was  extremely  embarrassed.  He  had  not 
intended  to  go  very  far  that  night ;  matters  were  so  recent.  He  looked 
very  much  puzzled,  and  seemed  to  be  trying  to  make  out  how  an 
innocent  remark  about  water-courses  could  have  led  them  away  so 
far  into  dry  land. 

"  Susan,"  he  called  out  confusedly,  and  looked  around.  But 
Susan  had  cleared  off  everything  and  gone  to  bed. 

Mrs.  Hodge  waited  a  moment  to  see  if  Mr.  Lively  intended  to  avail 
himself  of  this  good  opportunity  of  saying  anything  specially  con- 
fidential ;  but  he  was  too  confused  to  get  it  out.  So  she  thought  she 
would  venture  a  remark  about  the  weather  that  might  reassure  him. 

"  It's  right  cool  these  nights,  Mr.  Lively." 

This  made  Mr.  Lively  almost  jump  out  of  his  chair.  He  had  been 
remarking  only  a  day  before  how  warm  it  was  for  the  season,  and 
according  to  his  feelings  there  had  been  no  change  since  that  time. 
He  answered  as  well  as  he  could : 

"  No,  I  don't  —  yes  —  it's  right  cool  —  that  is,  it's  tolerable  cool.  I 
suppose  —  that  is,  I  expect  it  will  be  qjiite  cool  after  a  while.  A  — 
yes  —  I  think  a  good  rain  —  and  a  pretty  strong  wind  from  the  north- 
west now  —  would  —  ah,  help  —  and  ah  —  " 


2  20  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  assisted  Mrs.  Hodge;  "and  it's  about  time  that 
people  war  getting  ready  for  winter.  Thar  isn't  anything  like  people's 
bein  ready  to  keep  theirselves  warm  and  comfortable  in  the  cold,  cold 
winter." 

Mrs.  Hodge  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  if  winter  was  just  at  the 
door,  and  then  she  hugged  herself  up  nice  and  tight. 

"  Yes,  oh  yes,"  answered  Mr.  Lively,  somewhat  circularly ;  "  we 
all  don't  know.  But  still  comforts  —  yes  —  of  course  —  and  especially 
in  the  winter-time." 

Mrs.  Hodge  looked  down,  her  hands  played  with  a  corner  of  her 
pocket-handkerchief,  and  she  thought  that  she  blushed.  Mr.  Lively, 
concluding  possibly  that  he  had  carried  matters  far  enough  for  one 
evening,  rose  up  and  broke  away.  That  night  he  was  more  desirous 
than  ever  to  make  that  place  his  home  as  long  as  he  lived,  if  he  could  ; 
and  he  rather  believed  he  could. 

Although  matters  did  not  advance  with  the  rapidity  that  might  have 
been  expected,  yet  it  was  very  plain  to  Mrs.  Hodge,  and  even  to 
Susan,  that  Mr.  Lively  saw  and  appreciated  the  whole  situation.  Mrs. 
Hodge  knew  that  he  was  a  steady  and  rather  a  slow  man,  but  persistent 
in  his  purposes,  and  somewhat  peculiar  in  his  ways  of  compassing 
them.  He  could  neither  be  driven  nor  too  violently  pulled.  His 
growing  cheerfulness  and  the  new  interest  he  took  in  ever3'thing  about 
the  premises  showed  that  his  expectation  was  to  make  that  his 
permanent  home.  He  even  went  so  far  one  day  as  to  say  that  the 
house  needed  repairs,  and  that  it  must  have  them  before  very  long. 
Mrs.  Hodge  and  Susan  looked  at  each  other  and  both  smiled.  Susan 
seemed  to  be  gratified  about  as  much  as  anybody,  poor  thing  ;  for 
of  late,  Susan  seemed  to  be  on  some  little  better  ground  with  her 
aunt.  Thus  it  is  that  a  new  and  very  strong  feeling  towards  one 
dear  object  disposes  us  sometimes  to  feel  kindly  towards  all. 

It  was  delightful  to  see  how  pleasant  and  affable  Mr.  Lively  could 
be  ;  slow  as  he  might  be,  he  was  perfectly  affable  and  pleasant.  Mrs. 
Hodge  would  have  been  pleased  to  see  Mr.  Lively  more  ardent ;  but 
she  knew  that  was  not  his  way,  and  upon  the  whole  she  was  very  well 
satisfied. 

Matters  grew  more  and  more  interesting  every  day.  All  parties 
were  perfectly  sociable.  Improvements  were  constantly  going  on  in 
Mr.  Lively's  dress.  A  great  box  came  for  him  one  day  from  Augusta, 
and  the  next  Sunday  Mr.  Lively  came  out  in  a  new  cloth  suit.     Both 


CONCERA'ING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  22 1 

Mrs.  Hodge  and  Susan  declared  at  breakfast  that  he  looked  ten  years 
younger;  that  pleased  him  highly.  It  seemed  that  thoughts  upon 
marriage  had  suggested  to  him  the  notion  of  going  back  to  his  youth 
and  living  his  life  over  again.  But  how  would  you  suppose  Mrs. 
Hodge  looked  when,  after  breakfast,  Mr.  Lively  brought  in  a  long 
paper  bundle,  laid  it  on  the  table,  and  then  took  out  and  handed  to 
her  one  of  the  finest  black  silk  dress-patterns  that  had  ever  appeared 
in  that  neighborhood  ? —  and  not  only  so,  but  buttons,  hooks-and-eyes, 
thread,  lining,  and  binding  !  Nor  had  that  kind-hearted  man  forgotten 
Susan,  for  he  handed  her  at  the  same  time  a  very  nice  white  muslin 
pattern.  "  Oh  my  goodness  gracious  me,  Mr.  Lively  !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Hodge;  "I  knew  it;  but — but  —  still  I  —  I  didn't  —  expect 
it."  Susan  was  overpowered  too,  but  she  couldn't  express  herself 
like  her  Aunt  Malviny.  But  she  took  the  pattern,  and  blushed  all  the 
way  round   to  the  back  of  her  neck.     It  was  Susan's  first  present. 

And  now  those  dresses  had  to  be  made  up  right  away.  Mr.  Lively 
required  that  in  the  tone  of  a  master,  and  he  intimated  that  there 
were  other  things  in  that  same  box.  Mr.  Bill  Williams  was  not  so 
very  far  wrong  when  he  said  that  man  was  a  book. 

People  now  began  to  talk.  Already  Mr.  Bill  had  hinted  to  several 
persons  how  his  Cousin  Malviny  appeared  to  look  up  to  Mr.  Lively. 
This  started  inquiry,  and  the  new  clothes  and  youthful  looks 
convinced  everybody  that  it  was  so.  Mrs.  Hodge  began  to  be  joked  ; 
and  without  saying  yea  or  nay,  laughed  and  went  on.  Susan  was 
approached  ;  but  Susan  was  a  girl,  she  said,  that  didn't  meddle  with 
other  people's  business,  and  that  if  people  wouldn't  ask  her  any 
questions  they  wouldn't  get  any  lies  —  a  form  of  denial  which  in  old 
times  was  considered  almost  as  an  affirmative.     So  here  they  had  it. 

Matters  had  come  to  this  stand  when  Mr.  Lively  determined  to 
make  a  decisive  move. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

It  so  happened  that  my  parents  had  made  a  visit,  taking  me  with 
them,  to  my  father's  sister,  who  resided  about  a  hundred  miles  distant. 
We  were  gone  about  a  couple  of  weeks,  and  returned  on  a  Saturday 
night.     I  wished  that  the  next  day  might  have  been  the  one  for  the 


22  2  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

monthly  meeting  in  Dukesborough,  as  I  was  anxious  among  other 
reasons  to  see  Mr.  Bill  and  inquire  about  the  parties  on  Rocky 
Creek.  The  next  afternoon  I  was  walking  alone  in  the  grove,  and 
was  surprised  and  pleased  to  see  him  coming  up  the  road  towards  me. 
I  walked  on  to  meet  him. 

"Why,  Philip,  my  dear  friend,  you've  got  back,  have  you?  I'm  so 
glad  to  see  you.  Mammy  said  you  was  all  to  git  back  last  night,  and 
I  thought  I'd  jest  walk  over  this  evenin  like,  and  see  if  you  had 
come  shore  enough.  And  here  you  are  !  In  cose,  you've  heerd  the 
news  ? " 

No ;  we  had  got  back  last  night,  and  had  seen  no  person  but  the 
negroes.     What  news .-' 

"  About  the  old  man  Jonis.  You  haint  heerd  the  news  ?  Good- 
ness gracious  !  I'm  so  glad.     Come  along,  Squire.     I'm  so  glad." 

Mr.  Bill  did  look  even  thankful.     We  went  together  to  our  tree. 

"  And  you  haint  heerd  it  ?  Goodness  gracious  !  I  thought  it  would 
a  been  all  over  Georgy  before  this.  Let's  set  down  here.  Philip 
Pearch,  I  think  I  told  you  that  Jonis  Lively  war  a  book.  I  won't  be 
certing;  but  I  think  I  did." 

He  certainly  did. 

"  Is  it  all  over  ?  "  I  asked. 

Mr.  Bill  smiled  at  the  very  idea  that  I  should  have  expected  to  get 
it  out  of  him  in  that  style. 

"  Don't  you  forgit  what  I  told  you,  Philip.  Let  every  part  have  a 
far  chance  to  be  interestin.  Law  me,  law  me !  I'm  so  glad  you 
haint  heerd  it." 

Mr.  Bill  fixed  himself  as  comfortably  as  possible  among  the  roots 
of  the  old  tree,  and  thus  began  : — 

"Well,  you  know,  Squire,  I  told  you  that  I  seed  that  Cousin 
Malviny  war  lookin  up  mighty  to-wards  the  old  man.  Which  I  sposen 
I  oughtn't  to  say  the  old  man  now ;  but  let  that  go.  I  seed  that  she 
war  lookin  up  to  him,  and  I  knowed  that  she  war  thinkin  about 
changin  her  conditions.  I  knowed  that  she  had  change  'em  twice 
already  befo'  j  and  I  knowed  that  wimming,  when  they  git  in  sich  a 
habit,  you  needn't  try  to  alter  'em.  When  Cousin  ]Malviny  have  made 
up  her  mind,  she  take  right  arfter  Mr.  Lively.  Mr.  Lively,  it  seem, 
war  at  first  surprise,  and  he  rather  hold  back.  It  appear  like  he  war 
hard  to  understand  Cousin  Malviny.  But  the  more  he  hold  back,  the 
more  Cousin  Malviny  keep  movin  up.     He  see  Cousin  Malviny  keep 


COiVCERNIiVG  MR.  yONAS  LIVELY.  22^ 

sprusen  up ;  but  he  think  he  know  sich  things  is  common  with 
widders,  and  he  have  no  sich  idee  that  she  war  sprusenin  up  so  for 
him.  But  byn-bye  Mr.  Lively  begin  to  sprusen  up  hisself,  and  to  git 
new  clothes,  you  know ;  and  he  war  monstous  free  and  friendly  like 
with  Cousin  Malviny,  and  begin  to  talk  about  what  ought  to  be  done 
about  fixin  up  the  bouse  and  things  in  ginilly ;  and  it  seem  like  he 
and  Cousin  Malviny  war  movin  up  tolerble  close  :  and  I  haint  seed 
Cousin  Malviny  so  spry  and  active  sense  she  war  a  widder  befo', 
and  that  war  when  I  warn't  nothin  but  a  leetle  bit  of  a  boy. 

"  Well,  things  kept  a  goin  on,  and  everybody  see  that  they  war 
obleeged  to  come  to  a  head,  and  that  soon,  becase  people  knowed 
they  was  both  old  enough  to  know  thar  own  mind ;  and  both  of  'em  a 
livin  in  the  same  place,  everything  was  so  convenant  like.  Mr.  Lively 
begin  to  spend  his  money  free.  He  have  bought  new  clothes  for 
hisself,  and  he  have  bought  a  fine  silk  dress  for  Cousin  Malviny,  and 
he  even  went  so  far  as  to  give  a  right  nice  muslin  to  Susan.  Oh  he's 
a  book !  The  very  day  you  all  went  away  a  man  come  thar  from 
Augusty  and  fotch  a  bran-new  gig,  and  two  fine  bed-stids,  and  a 
bureau,  and  cheers.  And  he  never  say  a  word  to  Cousin  Malviny  till 
they  got  thar,  and  he  have  all  the  furnitoor  put  in  the  office ;  and 
Cousin  Malviny  war  delighted,  and  didn't  ax  him  anything  about  it, 
becase  she  know  he  war  a  man  of  mighty  few  words,  and  didn't  do 
things  like  t'other  people  nohow,  and  didn't  keer  about  people  axin 
him  too  many  questions  —  and  which  I  could  a  told  her  the  same. 
When  all  this  got  thar  people  know  what  was  a  comin  :  leastways 
they  think  they  do.  As  for  me,  I  war  lookin  out  every  day  for  a 
invite. 

"  And  now,  lo  and  behold  !  The  next  mornin  I  war  woke  up  by  day- 
light by  wheels  a  rattlin  ;  and  our  nigger-boy,  who  war  makin  me  and 
Mr.  Jones's  fire,  he  went  to  the  door,  and  he  come  back  and  he  say 
that  it  war  Mr.  Lively  in  a  new  gig,  and  he  have  a  female  in  thar 
along  with  him,  and  which  she  have  on  a  white  dress  and  a  veil,  but 
which  he  know  it  war  Cousin  Malviny  Hodge,  and  they  went  a  scootin 
on.  Thinks  I  to  myself,  and  I  says  to  Mr.  Jones,  what's  the  reason 
they  can't  git  married  at  home  like  t'other  people  ?  And  Mr.  Jones  he 
say  that  considerin  they  war  both  tolerble  old  people  they  was  in  a 
monstous  hurry  from  the  way  the  wheels  was  a  rattlin  ;  and  which 
they  minded  him  of  what  old  Mr.  Wiggins  said  in  his  sarmints  about 
rushin   along  Gallio-like,  a  keerin  for  none  o'  these  things.     Shore 


224  DUKESBOROVGH  TALES. 

enough  they  goes  on  to  Squire  Whaley's  at  the  two-mile  branch,  and 
thar  they  git  married. 

"  I  have  just  git  up  from  breakfast  at  Spouter's,  when  lo  and 
behold  !  here  come  that  gig  a  driving  up  nigh  and  in  and  about  as  fast 
as  it  come  by  the  sto'.  I  know  that  they  was  in  for  a  frolic  that  day, 
and  was  bent  on  havin  of  it,  and  I  laughed  when  I  see  'em  a  comin. 
When  they  got  to  the  tavern  door,  Mr.  Lively  he  hilt  up  his  horse, 
and  it  war  nice  to  see  how  spry  the  old  man  hop  outen  the  gig  and 
hand  out  his  wife.  And  she,  why  she  farly  bounce  out,  and  bounce 
up  and  down  two  or  three  times  arfter  she  lit !  I  says  to  myself, 
Cousin  Malviny  she  think  now  she  about  sixteen  year  old.  She  have 
on  her  white  veil  till  yit,  and  clean  till  she  got  in  the  house. 

"  '  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Williams  .'' '  says  he  to  me  when  I  follered  in. 
*  A  very  fine  morning,'  says  Mr.  Lively.  Says  I,  '  How  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Lively;  or  mout  I  now  say  Cousin  Jonis?  A  fine  mornin  indeed, 
I  sposen,  to  you.  Sir,  and  'specially  for  sich  pleasant  bizness.  I 
wishes  you  much  joy,  Mr.  Lively,  and  also  Cousin  Malviny.  But,' 
says  I,  '  I  did  spect  a  invite,  and  I  wants  to  know  what  made  you  two 
run  away  in  that  kind  o'  style ;  for  I  calls  it  nothin  but  runnin  away  ? 
Why  didn't  you  have  the  frolic  at  home.  Cousin  Malviny  ? '  says  L 
And  then  she  ansered  me.  I  tell  you,  Philinipinimon,  she  ansered 
me  !  " 

Mr.  Bill  paused,  and  seemed  waiting  for  me  to  question  him 
further.     "Why  didn't  they  marry  at  home,  then.?"  I  inquired. 

"  Ah,  yes ;  well  mout  you  ax  that  question,  my  friend  of  the 
sunny  hour.  When  you  ax  that  question  yur  talkin  sense.  Well,  I'll 
tell  you.     One  reason  why  thev  didn't  was  becase  they  couldn't." 

"They  couldn't?" 

"Couldn't.  Onpossible.  Jest  as  onpossible  as  if  it  had  been  a 
bresh-heap  and  it  afire." 

"  But  why  not  ?  " 

"Becase  Cousin  Malviny  wouldn't  a  been  willin."  This  was 
answered  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"Well,  that  is  funny." 

"  Fun  to  some  people  and  death  to  the  t'others." 

"Why,  I  should  think  she  would  rather  marry  at  home." 

"  She,  I  think  you  said,  Philip  .>  " 

"Yes.     She." 

"Well,  Philmon  Pearch,  will  you  jest  be  kind  and  condescendin 
enough  to  tell  me  who  it  is  you're  speakin  about  at  the  present  t  " 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  225 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Hodge,  of  course  ! " 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bill  in  apparently  great  surprise.  "  Oh  yes  ; 
Cousin  Malviny.  Yes.  Well  I  sposen  Cousin  Malviny,  reasonable 
speakin,  she  mout  ruther  git  married  at  home,  providin  in  cose  that 
people  has  got  homes  to  git  married  at.  I  should  ruther  suppose 
that  Cousin  Malviny  mout  some  ruther  git  married  at  home." 

"  Well,  why  didn't  she  do  it  then  ?  " 

"  Do  what  ? "     Mr.  Bill  seemed  to  be  growing  very  much  abstracted. 

"  Get  married,"  said  I  quite  distinctly. 

"  Git  married  !     Ah  yes.     Git  married.     To  who,  Philip  .'  " 

"  To  Mr.  Lively.     What's  the  matter  with  you,  Mr.  Bill .?  " 

Mr.  Bill  slowly  elevated  his  eyes  until  they  looked  into  the  zenith 
for  a  moment,  and  then  he  lowered  them  again. 

"  Oh  !  ]\Ir.  Lively  !  Well,  when  Mr.  Lively  he  got  married,  you  see, 
Philip  j  when  Mr.  Lively  he  got  married,  Cousin  Malviny  she  warn't 
thar." 

I  could  have  put  both  my  fists  into  Mr.  Bill's  mouth,  and  there  still 
would  have  been  room. 

"  What !  "  I  exclaimed.    ."  Didn't  Mr.  Lively  marry  Mrs.  Hodge  ?  " 

Mr.  Bill  rose  upon  his  feet,  bent  his  head  and  knees  forward,  and 
roared  : 

"  Na-ee-ii-o-oh-woH  !  " 

"  What !     Then  they  didn't  get  married  after  all .'  " 

"  Yes  they  did." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Bill  ?     Did  Mr.  Lively  get  married  >  " 

"  Certing  he  did.  Ef  any  man  ever  got  married,  Mr.  Jonis  Lively 
got  married  that  same  mornin." 

"  W'ho  did  he  marry  then  ?  " 

"  Se-00-woo-woosen ! " 

"  Who .? " 

"  See-00-woo-woosen,  Tem-em-pem-pemple.     Susan  !  Temple  !  " 

"  Susan  Temple  !  " 

"  Yes,  Sir,  it  war  Susan  Temple  ;  and  I  didn't  have  not  the  slightest 
concate  of  sich  a  thing  tell  she  lift  up  her  veil  and  I  see  her  with  my 
own  blessed  eyes  spread  out  in  all  her  mornin  glories,  so  to  speak. 
Didn't  I  tell  you,  Philerimon  Pearch,  that  that  blessed  an  ontimely 
old  feller  war  a  book.?  I'm  not  so  very  certing,  but  I  ruther  thi/ik 
I  did." 

"  But  what  about  Mrs.  Hodge .?     What  did  she  say 


■? 


29 


226  DUKESBOROUGH   TALES. 

"Ah  now,"  said  Mr.  Bill  sadly,  "now,  Philip,  yur  axin  sensible 
questions,  but  monstous  long  ones.  You  must  let  me  git  over  that 
first  awful  and  ontimely  skene  befo'  I  can  anser  sich  long  questions 
as  them  about  poor  Cousin  Malviny.  Them  questions  is  civil  ques- 
tions, I  know,  and  I  shall  anser  'em  ;  but  they're  mighty  long  ques- 
tions, Philip,  and  a  body  got  to  have  time.  Ain't  he  a  book.-*  Come 
now,  Philippippimon,  my  honest  friend,  you  ax  me  questions ;  and  far 
play,  I  axes  you  one.     Ain't  he  a  book .''  " 

I  could  but  admit  that  if  ever  man  was,  it  was  Mr.  Lively. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

I  HAD  to  let  Mr.  Bill  expatiate  at  length  upon  his  surprise  and  that  of 
the  public  at  this  unexpected  match  before  I  could  bring  him  to  the 
finale.  Mr.  Bill  admitted  that  he  was  at  first  not  only  embarrassed, 
but  speechless.  He  never  had  expected  to  live  to  see  the  day  when 
he  should  be  in  that  condition  before  Susan  Temple.  But  such  it 
was.  We  never  know  what  is  before  us.  The  longer  a  man  lives  to  see 
anything,  the  more  he  finds  that  it  is  a  solemn  fact  that  he  can't  tell 
what  he  may  live  to  see.  He  had  never  been  so  minded  of  that  as  at 
the  present;  "leastways  "  on  that  blessed  and  "ontimely"  morning. 
Wx.  Bill  was  very  sorry  that  Miss  Angeline  Spouter  had  not  been  at 
home  to  share  in  his  astonishment ;  but  she  had  gone  the  evening 
before  to  spend  the  night  with  Miss  Georgiana  Pea,  friendly  and  inti- 
mate relations  having  been  fully  restored  between  these  ladies. 

"  When  I  got  so  I  could  open  my  mouth,"  said  Mr.  Bill,  "  in  cose  I 
feel  like  I  ought  to  say  somethin,  even  ef  it  war  but  a  few  lines, 
and  —  ah  —  some  perliminary  remarks  —  so  to  speak.  So  I  goes  up 
to  Mr.  Lively,  I  does,  and  I  says  to  him :  '  Mr.  Lively,'  says  I,  '  you 
has  took  us  all  by  surprise.  And  you  more  so,  Susan,'  says  I ;  'which 
I  sposen  I  ought  to  say  Miss  Lively,  but  which  it  ar  so  onexpected 
that  I  begs  you'll  excuse  me.'  And  then  I  ax  'em  ef  Cousin  Malviny 
know  of  all  sich  carrins  on.  Then  Susan  she  looked  skeered.  And 
I  tell  you,  Philippimon,  that  gurl  look  right  scrimptious  with  them  fine 
things  on  and  them  shoes.  But  Mr.  Lively  war  cool  as  a  summer 
evenin  like,  and  he  said  that  he  sposen  not.  Then  he  say  that  he 
had  stop  to  git  his  breakfast,  him  and  Susan,  and  that  arfter  breakfast 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  227 

they  was  goin  out  thar ;  but  also  that  he  war  first  goin  to  git  Mr. 
Spouter  to  send  Cousin  Malvin)'  word  what  had  become  of  em,  and  that 
they  war  all  safe.  And  then  I  tells  Mr.  Lively  that  ef  it  suited  him 
I  would  go  myself.  I  tell  you,  Philip,  I  wanted  to  car  that  news  out 
thar  myself  Mr.  Lively  he  sorter  smile,  and  say  he  would  be  much 
obleege  ef  I  would.  I  hurries  on  to  the  sto',  tells  Mr.  Jones  what's 
up,  and  gits  leave  to  go  to  Cousin  Malviny ;  and  I  mighty  nigh  run  all 
the  way  out  thar. 

"  Cousin  Malviny  war  standin  at  the  gate.  When  I  git  about 
twenty  yards  from  her  I  stop  to  catch  a  little  breath.  Cousin 
Malviny  holler  out  to  me  :  '  Has  you  seen  'em.  Cousin  William  ? '  I 
tried  to  be  calm  and  cool,  and  I  ax  Cousin  Malviny  to  be  calm  and 
cool.  And  I  saj^s,  'What's  the  matter.  Cousin  Malviny?  Ar  any- 
thing wrong  out  here .''  Seed  who  ? '  '  Susan,'  says  Cousin  Malviny, 
'and  Mr.  Lively,  and  Uncle  Moses.'  'Uncle  Moses!!'  says  I; 
'  have  Uncle  Moses  gone  too  ? '  '  Yes,'  says  Cousin  Malviny  ;  '  I 
sent  Moses  on  John  mule  to  look  for  'em  when  I  heerd  they  was 
gone.'  At  the  very  minnit  here  come  old  Uncle  Moses  a  trottin  on  up 
on  John  mule  ;  and  I  don't  know  which  war  the  tiredest  and  solemest, 
John  or  old  Uncle  Moses.  Cousin  Malviny  ax  Uncle  Moses  what 
news.  '  Bad,  Missis,'  said  Uncle  Moses,  '  bad  nuff.  You  see.  Missis, 
when  you  tole  me  git  on  top  o'  John  an  take  arter  'em.  Missis,  I 
thought  fust  they  was  gwine  todes  Agusty,  for  he  did  start  off  that 
way  ;  but,  Missis,  time  I  got  to  the  creek  and  t'other  side  whar  the 
roads  forks,  I  gits  off,  I  does,  offen  John,  and  looks  close  to  the 
ground  to  find  track  of  'em  an'  which  road  they  tuck.  Day  hit  jest 
begin  to  crack  a  leetle  bit ;  and  bless  your  soul,  Missis,  they  hadn't 
been  thar.  I  rode  on  back  tell  I  got  to  our  cowpen  right  yonder  ;  and 
shore  nuff  they  has  been  done  got  down,  let  down  the  draw-bars,  gone 
round  the  cowpen,  let  down  the  fence  up  yonder  ontoo  the  road  agin, 
back  up  yonder  and  gone  on  todes  Dukesborough.  I  tracks  'em  in 
that  field  thar  same  as  Towser  and  Loud  arter  a  possum.' 

"  Cousin  Malviny  tell  Uncle  Moses  to  let  possums  alone  and  go 
on.  'Yes,  Missis.  I  war  jest  tellin  how  they  let  down  our  draw-bars 
and  went  through  behind  the  cowpen  yonder,  an  got  ontoo  the  road 
agin  an  whipt  on  to  town.'  But,  Philip,  I  couldn't  stop  for  Uncle 
Moses  to  tell  his  tale ;  it  war  always  astonishin  to  me  how  long  it  do 
take  a  nigger  to  tell  anything.  So  I  tells  Uncle  Moses  to  go  -long 
and  put  up  his  mule,  and  feed  him  to  boot,  and  hisself  too,  as  I  seed 


2  28  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

the)^  was  both  of  'em  hongry  and  tired,  and  that  I  knowed  all  about 
it  and  would  tell  Cousin  Malviny  myself.  And  so  I  did  tell  her  the 
upshot  of  the  whole  business.  And  oh,  my  honest  friend,  ef  you 
ever  see  a  person  rip  and  rar,  it  war  Cousin  Malviny ;  she  come  nigh 
and  in  an  about  as  nigh  cussin  as  she  well  could,  not  to  say  the  very 
words.  But  which  you  know  Cousin  Malviny  ar  a  woming,  and  kin  to 
me  —  leastways  we  claims  kin  ;  and  you  musn't  say  anything  about  it. 
When  I  told  her  they  was  comin  back  arfter  a  little,  she  declared  on 
her  soul  that  they  shouldn't  nary  one  of  'em  put  their  foot  into  her 
house  ef  she  could  keep  'em  from  it ;  and  it  look  like,  she  said,  she 
ought  to  be  mistiss  of  her  own  house.  Well,  I  war  nately  sorry  for 
Cousin  Malviny,  an  I  ax  her  ef  Mr.  Lively  have  promise  to  marry 
her.  Cousin  Malviny  say  that  no,  he  didn't  in  ezactly  them  words  ; 
but  he  have  bought  furnitoor,  an'  talk  in  sich  a  way  about  the  place  an' 
everything  on  it  as  ef  he  spected  to  own  it  hisself;  and  she  war 
spectin  him  to  cote  her,  and  then  she  war  goin  to  think  about  it 
when  he  did  ax  :  not  that  she  keerd  anything  about  him  no  way  ;  and 
now  sense  he  had  done  gone  and  made  a  fool  o'  hisself,  and  took  up 
with  that  poor,  good-for-nothin  Susan  Temple,  he  mout  go  ;  and  as 
for  comin  into  her  house,  she  would  set  old  Towser  and  Loud  arfter 
him  first.  Now  I  knowed  that  war  all  foolishness  ;  and  specially 
about  them  dogs,  which  I  knowed  they  was  bitin  dogs,  and  which  I 
wouldn't  a  gone  out  o'  that  house  that  night  I  stayed  thar  ef  I  hadn't 
knew  that  Uncle  Moses  have  went  possum-huntin  ;  but  which  I  told 
Cousin  Malviny  that  them  dogs  warn't  goin  to  pester  Mr.  Lively  nor 
Susan,  becase  they  knowed  'em  both  as  well  as  they  knowed  her. 
We  was  inside  the  gate,  and  we  was  jest  a  startin  to  go  to  the  house 
when  here  drive  up  Mr.  Lively  and  Susan.  '  Here,  Towser,  here, 
Loud  ! '  hollers  out  Cousin  Malviny,  '  here  !  here  ! '  Says  I  to  Cousin 
Malviny,  'Cousin  Malviny,  ef  them  dogs  bites  anybody  here  to-day, 
it's  agoin  to  be  me  ;  and  I  hopes  you  will  stop  callin  'em.'  But  bless 
your  soul,  my  friend  Philipiminon,  them  dogs  was  round  by  the 
kitchen,  and  they  heerd  Cousin  Malviny  and  they  come  a  tarin  and 
a  yellin.  As  soon  as  they  turned  the  corner  o'  the  house,  I  seed  they 
thought  I  was  the  person  they  was  to  git  arfter.  I  jumps  back,  I  does, 
and  runs  through  the  gate  and  shets  it.  '  Sich  'em,  Towser !  Sich 
'em,  my  boys,'  says  Cousin  Malviny  —  the  foolishest  that  I  think  I  ever 
see  any  sensible  person  ever  do  sense  I  war  born ;  but  Cousin 
Malviny,  all  the  eyes  she  had  war  upon   Mr.  Lively,  and   he  war  a 


CONCERNING  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  229 

gittin  out  of  the  gig,  cool  and  calm,  and  he  give  Susan  the  reins  to 
hold.  '  Sich  'em,  my  bo3's  ! '  kept  hollerin  Cousin  Maiviny,  outen  all 
reason.  Well,  Sir,  lo  and  behold  !  while  old  Towser  war  at  the  gate 
a  rippin  and  a  roarin  to  git  out,  Loud  he  run  down  about  thirty  steps 
whar  thar  war  a  rail  ofif  the  yard  fence,  and  he  lit  over  and  he  come  a 
chargin.  I  says  to  myself,  ef  here  aint  a  responsibility  nobody  ever 
had  one,  and  the  only  way  I  has  to  git  outen  it  is  to  clime  that  gate- 
post. So  I  hops  up,  one  foot  on  a  rail  of  the  fence,  hands  on  the 
gate-post,  and  t'other  foot  on  one  of  the  palins  o'  the  gate.  I  war 
climbin  with  all  that  bein  in  a  hurry  that  you  mout  sposen  a  man  in 
my  present  sitooation  would  know  he  have  no  time  to  lose.  I  has 
done  got  one  foot  on  top  o'  the  fence,  and  war  about  to  jerk  the 
t'other  from  between  the  gate  palins,  when  old  Towser  he  grab  my 
shoe  by  the  toe,  inside  the  yard,  and  the  next  minute  Loud  he  have 
me  by  my  coat-tails  outside. 

"  At  this  very  minute  Mr.  Lively  have  farly  got  down  from  the 
gig  ;  and  when  he  seed  Loud  have  me  by  my  last  coat-tail  (for  he  have 
done  tore  off  t'other),  he  rush  up,  gin  him  a  lick  with  his  hickory-stick, 
and  speak  to  Towser,  and  they  let  me  go.  Bless  your  soul,  Philip ! 
I  war  too  mad  to  see  all  what  follered.  Both  o'  my  coat-tails  was  tore 
pretty  well  off;  and  hadn't  been  for  my  shoes  bein  so  thick,  and  tacks 
in  'em  to  boot,  I  should  a  lost  one  of  my  toes,  and  maybe  two.  When 
I  got  sorter  cool  I  see  Mr.  Lively  tryin  to  show  Cousin  Maiviny  a 
paper,  and  call  her  Aunty.  When  she  hear  Mr.  Lively  call  her  Aunty, 
Cousin  Maiviny,  who  have  been  a  ravin  all  this  time,  she  say  that 
war  too  much ;  and  then  she  go  in  the  house,  and  sink  in  a  chair  and 
call  for  her  smellin  vial,  and  tell  'em  to  put  her  anywhar  they  wants 
to,  ef  it  even  war  her  grave.     She  give  up  farly  and  squarly. 

"  Come  to  find  out,  Mr.  Lively,  while  I  war  gittin  back  my  temper 
and  bein  sorter  cool  —  for  I  tell  you,  boy,  I  war  never  madder  in  my 
life  —  Mr.  Lively  have  been  a  tellin  Cousin  Maiviny  what  I'm  now  a 
telling  you,  that  that  place  and  everything  on  it  belong  to  him  now  as 
the  husband  o'  Susan ;  and  which  they  have  jest  t'other  day  found 
Hodge's  will,  which  he  have  hid  away  in  that  desk  ;  and  which  Hodge 
he  give  everything  thar  to  Susan  and  Cousin  Maiviny  jintly,  for 
Cousin  Malviny's  death,  and  arfterwards  the  whole  to  Susan  ;  and 
which  he  have  pinted  Mr.  Lively  his  Ezecketer ;  and  which  that  ar  a 
law  word,  Philipip  —  a  meanin  that  somebody  arfter  a  man  dies  have 
got  to  tend  to  the  business  in  ginerly. 


230  DUKESBOROUCH  TALES. 

"And  now,  Philip,  I  tell  you  that  Mr.  Lively  ar  a  right  clever  old 
man  arfter  all.  He  ar  from  old  North  Calliner,  shore  nuff;  and 
away  long  time  ago  he  have  a  plantation  thar,  and  he  war  goin  to 
marry  a  gurl  over  thar,  long  time  ago,  but  she  took  sick  and  died. 
And  then  Mr.  Lively,  he  got  low  sperited  like,  and  sell  out  and  move 
to  Augusty  and  buy  propty,  and  make  more  money  and  buy  more 
propty,  tel  he  got  to  be  worth  twenty  thousand  dollars  at  least 
calclation.     Did  you  ever  see  such  a  man  ? 

"Well,  he  got  tired  livin  in  sich  a  big  place,  and  he  want  to  git 
back  in  the  country.  But  somehow  he  don't  feel  like  goin  back  to  old 
North  Calliner  ;  and  then  he  git  acquainted  with  Hodge,  and  he  heern 
about  Dukesborough,  and  so  he  come  here.  Well,  arfter  Hodge  he 
died.  Cousin  Malviny,  you  see,  she  think  about  changin  her  conditions 
again,  and  they  aint  no  doubt  but  she  take  arfter  Mr.  Lively.  She 
deny  it  now  ;  but  wimming  can't  fool  me.  Well,  Mr.  Lively  he  git 
somehow  to  like  the  place  and  don't  want  to  go  away  from  it ;  but  he 
see  somethin's  obleeged  to  be  done  ;  and  he  have  always  like  Susan, 
becase  he  see  Cousin  Malviny  sorter  put  on  her  so  much.  Hodge 
war  sorry  for  Susan  too,  and  he  use  to  talk  to  Mr.  Lively  about  her  ; 
and  he  tell  Mr.  Lively  that  ef  he  died  he  war  goin  to  'member  her 
in  his  will.  But  shore  enough  they  couldn't  find  no  will,  and  Mr. 
Lively  he  sposen  that  Hodge  done  forgit  Susan  ;  and  so  Mr.  Lively 
he  make  up  his  mind  to  cote  Susan,  and  ef  she'd  have  him  he  mean 
to  buy  out  the  propty  even  ef  he  have  to  pay  too  much  for  it.  So  he 
go  to  cotin  Susan  the  first  chance  he  git ;  and  Susan,  not  spectin  she 
war  ever  goin  to  be  coted  by  anybody,  think  she  better  ^■^y  yes,  and 
she  say  yes.  It  war  a  quick  cotin  and  a  quick  anser.  But  lo  and 
behold !  Susan  found  in  the  sto'  one  day  a  paper,  and  she  give  it  to 
Mr.  Lively  ;  and  Mr.  Lively  see  it  war  Hodge's  will,  as  I  tell  you.  But 
this  didn't  alter  Susan  ;  for  when  the  old  man  told  her  about  it,  and 
say  he'd  let  her  off  ef  she  wanted  to,  Susan  say  she  don't  want  to 
be  let  off;  and  you  now  behold  the  conshequenches. 

"  And  now,  Philip,  what  make  I  tell  you  he  ar  a  right  clever  old 
feller  ar  this  :  when  Cousin  Malviny  ar  sorter  come  too,  and  understan 
herself  and  the  sitooation  she  war  in,  Mr.  Lively  call  Susan  in  ;  for  I 
tell  you  that  gurl  war  not  for  gittin  out  o'  that  gig  till  matters  got 
cooler.  And  then  Mr.  Lively  tell  Cousin  Malviny  that  she  mout  stay 
right  whar  she  war,  and  that  he  war  goin  to  fix  up  her  house,  and  she 
mout  keep  her  same  room,  only  it  should  have  new  furnitoor,  and  he 


CONCERXIXG  MR.  JONAS  LIVELY.  231 

would  fix  another  room  for  him  and  Susan ;  and  he  war  goin  to  find 
everything  hisself,  and  she  shouldn't  be  at  no  expense  ;  and  ef  she 
got  married  he  would  give  her  more'n  the  will  give  her  in  money,  and 
she  mout  will  away  her  intrust  into  the  bargin  and  he  would  pay  it  in 
money ;  only  Mr.  Lively  say  that  sto'  must  be  broke  up,  and  he  will 
pay  her  down  in  cash  twice  what  the  stock  war  worth.  Arfter  all  this, 
Cousin  Malviny  gin  up  for  good  and  call  for  Susan.  Susan  went  to 
her,  and  they  hugged  ;  and  Cousin  Malviny  she  laughed,  and  Susan 
she  cried.  I  could  but  notice  them  two  wimming.  One  of  'em  was 
a  laughin  and  one  was  a  cryin  ;  and  which  I  couldn't  see  the  use  nor 
the  sense  of  nary  one.  But  wimming's  wimming,  and  you  can't  alter 
'em. 

"  But  it  war  time  I  war  leavin  and  goin  back  to  my  business.  Thar 
business  war  not  mine.  I  bids  them  wimming  good-bye  ;  and  I  axes 
Mr.  Livel}',  ef  it  war  not  too  much  trouble,  to  see  me  throo  the  gate 
and  safe  from  them  dogs  ;  becase  I  told  Mr.  Lively  I  didn't  want  to 
hurt  them  dogs,  but  I  wanted  'em  not  to  be  pesterin  o'  me  no  more. 
Mr.  Lively  he  go  with  me  about  a  hundred  yards  ;  and  as  I  war  about 
to  tell  him  good-bye,  I  says  to  Mr.  Lively,  says  I,  '  Mr.  Lively,  it  'pear 
like  you  has  plenty  o'  money ;  and  I  don't  sposen  that  you  think 
people  ought  to  lose  anything  by  'tendin  to  your  business,  when  it's 
none  o'  theirn.  Well,  Mr.  Lively,  it  seem  like  somebody  by  good 
rights,  reasonable  speakin,  somebody  ought  to  pay  for  my  coat-tails  ; 
for  you  can  see  for  yourself,  Mr.  Lively,  that  ef  this  coat  ar  to  be  of 
any  more  use  to  me,  it  ar  got  to  be  as  a  round  jacket ;  and  all  this 
bizness  whar  it  got  tore  —  and  I  come  monstous  nigh  gittin  dog-bit  — 
war  none  o'  mine,  but  t'other  people's  ;  and  it  seem  like  I  ought  to  git 
paid  by  somebody.'  Mr.  Lively  smile  and  say  'of  cose,'  and  ax  me 
about  what  I  sposen  them  coat-tails  was  worth  ;  and  I  tells  him  I  don't 
think  two  dollars  and  a  half  was  high.  And  then,  Philip,  ef  he  didn't 
pull  out  a  five-dollar  bill  and  give  me,  I  wish  I  may  be  dinged  ! 

"  And  then,  Philip,  what  do  you  sposen  that  blessed  and  ontimely 
old  man  said  to  me .-'  Says  he,  '  Mr.  Williams,  you  did  lose  your  coat- 
tails,  and  come  very  nigh  bein  badly  dog-bit  while  lookin  on  at  busi- 
ness which,  as  you  say,  was  not  yourn.  You've  got  paid  for  it.  When 
you  war  out  here  before,  Mr.  Williams,  you  took  occasion  to  look  at 
some  other  business  —  oh,  Mr.  Williams,  I  saw  your  tracks,  and  you 
told  on  yourself  next  mornin  at  breakfast.  Towser  and  Loud  war 
then  gone  with  Uncle  Moses  possum-hunting.     Sup-pose  they  had 


232  DUKESBOROUGH  TALES. 

been  at  home,  and  had  caught  you  in  the  dark  at  my  window,  Mr. 
WiUiams  ?  Don't  say  anything,  Mr.  Williams ;  but  let  this  be  a 
lesson  to  you,  my  young  friend.  There's  more  ways  than  one  of 
paying  for  things.  I  advise  you,  Mr.  Williams,  not  to  talk  about 
what  you  saw  that  night  to  any  more  people  than  you  can  help.  I 
am  not  anxious  to  fool  people,  Mr.  Williams,  and  haven't  done  it ; 
but  I  would  ruther  people  wouldn't  dog  me  about.  You  see  how  un- 
pleasant it  ar  to  be  dogged,  and  what  Loud  got  for  meddlin  with  your 
coat-tails.  But  he  didn't  know  any  better.  You  do,  or  ought  to. 
Let  Loud's  be  a  example  to  you,  Mr.  Williams.  Good-day,  Mr. 
Williams.'     And  he  left  me  befo'  I  could  say  a  single  word. 

"  Now,  Philip,  I  war  never  so  much  nonplushed  in  all  my  born 
days ;  and  which  when  he  talk  about  how  Loud  mout  be  an  ezample, 
I  knowed  what  he  mean,  becase  which  I  don't  have  to  be  knock 
down  stairs  befo'  I  can  take  a  hint.  But  you  see,  Philip,  under  all 
the  circumsances  I  thinks  it's  maybe  best  not  to  say  anything  about 
the  old  man's  har.  Not  as  I  keer  for  Mr.  Lively's  old  hickory-stick, 
becase  thar's  plenty  o'  hickories  in  the  woods ;  but,  Philip,  it  mout 
git  you  into  dif-ficulties ;  and  ef  it  was  to  do  that,  I  should  jest  feel 
like  I  ought  to  take  the  responsibility,  and  I  should  do  it.  So  let's 
keep  still.  I  haint  told  nobody  but  you  and  Mr.  Jones  ;  and  he  ar  a 
man  of  mighty  few  words  anyhow,  and  he  aint  goin  to  talk.  So  less 
let  the  old  man  go,  and  not  interrupt  him,  and  wish  him  much  joy  of 
his  young  wife.  Poor  Cousin  Malviny !  But  she  look  peen  as  ever. 
I  see  her  yistiday,  and  she  look  peert  as  ever.  But  wimming's  wim- 
ming,  Philip,  and  you  can't  alter  'em." 


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